The Long Road Home
by TenTenD
Summary: Only the Blue Rose of the North may enable the Queen's womb to carry. Otherwise she is doomed to lose all her babes as she has lost her Princess. Rhaella Targaryen takes matters in her own hands and has the sole daughter of House Stark brought into the folds of her own family. AU! Lyanna is raised at court and is no less of a Stark despite her Targaryen upbringing.
1. Rhaella I

She could hear him on the other side of the door, yelling at old Maester, promising torture and bloodshed. She could hear every word and in her mind's eye she saw his face contorted in rage. He'd had gone hunting and left her on her own to endure another tragedy. Moisture gathered on her lashes. Somewhere close by servants were scurrying about, trying to avoid anything potentially life-threatening. Another yell mixed with imprecations followed. She shut her eyes and burrowed deeper in the warmth of her coverings, feeling her sorrow running down her cheeks. It hurt, the pain visceral, cutting a path through her.

A whimper drew forth from her lips. Rhaella Targaryen was cursed. She could feel it. She could feel the putrid stench of despair enveloping her. The rivers of her tears grew even stronger, salty water leaking down her porcelain skin. Never had there been a woman less happy than her, she was sure. Small sobs escaped her lips. She just wanted to close her eyes and never open them again. It should have been easy. But she could not do it, for the life of her she couldn't. Whenever her lashes pressed tightly together she would remember that tiny face, blue. Why had the skin been blue? It should not have happened. It should not. The gods were unfair. It should have been her they took, not her poor, innocent daughter. It was not fair. A mother shouldn't have to suffer thus. Had they no hearts? Had they no eyes? Rhaella's sobs grew louder. Did they not know that there she lived only for all these children that they took from her. It was odious, preposterous and cruel. It was cruel to promise life and give death. It was cruel to rob a mother of her delight in the last hour.

Her sweet Shaena was dead. Her poor, sweet babe. She hadn't even held her. How could a child leave like that, without ever knowing the loving touch of its mother? The maesters should have saved her. They should have done sometime other than crowd around her and wipe the sweat off her forehead. If they had, her Shaena might have yet lived. Rhaella's teeth clenched together in barely-suppressed rage. Her anger sparked, burned and consumed. It extended towards all and any who had been with her in those dark moments. And towards those who had been absent. Where had they been? Why hadn't they helped her? Her mind was running around in circles, grasping at straws, trying to make peace with something that her heart shunned.

Yet she could not dismiss the feeling of inadequacy that had taken over her. If only the Stranger would hear her prayers and the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Rhaella shifted, curling into herself, arms wrapped tightly in a hug. She felt so alone, devoid of power, dead on the inside. She wanted and wanted, but she did not know what. She wanted her Shaena back, but then she wanted her brother to comfort her. She wanted to hold her son, but she did not wish for him to see her thus.

The door opened. Rhaella did not respond as her name was called out. She did not even turn her head. Yet she could hear the sound of footsteps and her brother's familiar presence made itself known. "Rhaella." He was standing just behind her. "Sister."

"Where have you been?" came her voice, thin and weak, strained for pain. "Where have you been?" Something akin to anger coloured her words as twisted around to face her husband, her King, the man who had left her on her own. "You weren't here."

"I am here now," Aerys tries to shush her. He sat on the edge of her bed, upper half twisted her way. A gentleness shone in his eyes, one which Rhaella had not seen in some time. He patted her hair gently. "I cam as soon as I heard. I am sorry."

"She was our daughter, Aerys. And she's dead." As dead as their own father who has forced this upon them, as dead as the grandfather who refused to hear their pleas and stop the madness. She's dead. Shaena is gone. Out of their grasp.

Aerys gathered her in his arms, forcing her frame upright. "There will be other children, Rhaella." They were capable of producing living offspring. Rhaegar was proof of that. Their eldest son, her beautiful boy. "It shall be fine, sister. It shall. We need but time." Silence fell between them like a heavy curtain.

At a long last Rhaella spoke again. "The witch might know something." The feared witch, the same witch who had whispered in their father's ear about prophecies and promised princes and a reign of dragons to last a thousand years; a cursed creature that had crawled out of some swamp and saw fit to sway the mind of those willing to believe her words. That creature was her only hope, Rhaella thought bleakly, and if she had to give her the heart within her chest she would. Anything for the nightmare to stop.

At first, Aerys regarded her with a shocked gaze. "We shan't," he said, voice firm. "Her very words are poison, her breath an insult to you and me. I will not put my faith in her hands." But his sister knew that in such moments he was as vulnerable as she. If only she twisted the knife a but deeper.

"Brother, I beg of you. I shan't rest easy until I have the answers. If you can find it within yourself to take pity of me, a poor grieving mother, then let us see the witch. Mayhap she knows of a cure." But Aerys would not hear of it. He cursed and raged, leaving her side. Utterly hopeless were any of her attempts, for her brother did not wish to hear one more word. He left her where she sat, storming out the door.

In his wake was but torchlight and deathly silence. Pain flared in the Queen's breast. A cold shiver ran down her spine and her hand came up to rest on the smarting spot. A ghost must have stepped over her grave, she thought. Dour and quite without any power left, Rhaella fell back under the covers and prayed. She played her husband would understand and she asked the gods to help her in this. "You have taken from me what I love. 'Tis time to be kind now. Merciful Mother, be of aid to me." Her whispers were almost loud into the dark night, but not enough to attract attention.

The gods were strange rulers of their realm. They only granted some requests and even those in ways know only by them. Had the Queen expected a clear response to her supplication, she was to be disappointed for these beings of the ether did not change the King's mind.

If anything, Aerys had grown pensive throughput the night and the light of day did not seem to help his mood. Rhaella avoided speaking with him. When he was in such dark a mood, caution was her fondest ally. But she decided then and there that with or without him, she would see the witch and she would find the answers she desired.

It did not take long hours of preparation, nor did she have to search for the despicable creature. The witch had long since made her home at court and she had been waiting to be summoned. Or so she led Rhaella to believe when she came into her chambers.

"I have been waiting for you to summon me," the old woman spoke in her slightly throaty voice. "You are searching for a cure, are you not?" Rhaella merely nodded. "You wish to have children again." That had not been a question, so no answer was given.

The witch stepped closer and Rhaella forced herself to remain still as the woman took her hand. "But what is this? Look how pale you are." Her hand was lifted into the air. "The fire is too strong within you, child. It burns away your babes."

Horror painted the Queen's features. "What mean you, witch? I burn them I kill them?"

"Aye, your womb, the forge of souls within you, 'tis too hot a place – a desert for them." Beady eyes stared at her accusingly, the frail cries of babes ringing in her ears. Rhaella pulled away.

"You lie!" she accused the woman. "Cursed witch, you wish to pour poison in my ears. y brother was right–"

"Your Majesty, I do not lie. But I do know of a way to help. A balm." That made the Queen pause in her tirade. Interpreting the silence as a conformation of curiosity, the witch started speaking once more, "There is but one thing to be done, Your Majesty. You need ice to quell the fire within you, for ice burns strong as fire."

"Ice?" Rhaella questioned. The witch had gone mad, she though. Aerys had been right. "How would ice help me? And where would I find ice in summer?"

"Oh, 'tis not the frozen water I speak of," the old woman laughed, "nay, I talk of the old blood of the North. That is the line of ice, my lady. You need one such as yourself to lift the curse."

"So it is a curse," the Queen spoke to no one in particular. "Who would wish to curse me, witch?"

"I know not. The curse is old. Older than I, Your Majesty. I cannot fathom who has placed it upon your house. I can only give guidance in lifting it." The witch ceased speaking, waiting for the decision of the one who had summoned her.

For her own part, Rhaella could not help but think on what she'd heard. A curse. Ever since her son was born, her womb has refused to quicken and give healthy children. Rhaella had prayed to the Mother. She had Septons bless her. She had tried everything she could. Yet it would seem that only the old witch could aid her. And so she was to listen.

"What must I do?" Anything, she promised to herself, anything at all she would do. "Where am I to find one such as me?" And who could possibly be one such as her?

"There is, far in the North a beautiful sort of flower. 'Tis native to those lands. This blood is called a Winter Rose. Its colour is the most beautiful shade of blue any flower had ever been painted by the gods. She is the queen of her frozen lands. But Blue Rose I wish you to find has no thorns, not does she grow like vine on stone walls. Nay, this rose has two legs and two hands in its veins is the blood of kings as sure as the sun rises in the East." The explanation flowed quickly past her lips, leaving the Queen somewhat dazed.

Rhaella sat down, trying to gather her thoughts. "You mean to tell me that what I search for is in the North. A child, then. A noble child of the North. A member of House Stark." History names the Stark as King in the North before Aegon's conquest. If royal blood ran through any veins then it had to be through the veins of the Starks. And if the child was like her, then it must mean 'twas a daughter of House Stark that would be her salvation. "But how would I bring her here?"

"You are the Queen, Your Majesty. What doors are locked to you in such matters?" Indeed, 'twas so. And yet, she would need more than a crown to call a noble daughter out of her parents' home. If indeed, Lord Stark did have a daughter.

"I shall write. I shall send a raven." She stood to her feet, ecstatic, full of joy and relief. The curse was at an end. She could feel it, truly she could. Her salvation had arrived. Tears filled her eyes.

* * *

><p>Aerys had gone, Rhaella knew not where. However, his absence did not bother her at all. In fact it gave her the needed opportunity to write to Lord Stark, inquiring after a daughter. The matter had been carefully thought over. The Queen had composed and ripped apart a thousand letters in her head. She had chosen words and words, not knowing which sounded better, which would plead her case in an appropriate manner.<p>

The witch had merely watched her with her unsettling gaze. "Why write a letter so long for such small a request. Demand the child and the child shall be yours." But those words Rhaella did not trust.

"If someone demanded my son, you can be sure I would not simply give him to them. I wish Lord Stark to know that I mean his daughter no ill, but I need her." She could not bear to think of the child's mother though. As a mother herself, Rhaella knew what atrocity it would seem in the eyes of Lady Stark.

Though daughters were sometimes offered in other houses as cup-bearers or sometimes ladies-in-waiting, they were typically older than what she imagined Lord Stark's daughter was – if he did have a daughter, that was. Frustratingly enough, no one seemed to know if Rickard Stark did have a daughter. Everyone knew he had sons – two, three according to some, but no one ever mentioned a daughter. So it fell to the Queen to ask or make demands or handle the situation as she pleased.

But if the daughter did exist and Lord Stark accepted the Queen's terms, she swore in her letter that she would grant him whatever he wished of her, if only he asked. It was, of course, a dangerous offer. But Rhaella was convinced that if she gave her brother healthy children, he would be willing to bestow a gift upon her. And with that gift she would reward Lord Stark.

As for the daughter, the Queen would see to it that she receive the highest honour possible. For the person who had lifted her curse was worthy of a crown and may other riches besides. _I have a son, my lord, _she'd written, her quill flowing easily on paper. What else could a father desire for his daughter? Aye, the Starks were an old house, with a strong name and vast lands. They were the most remote up in their northern lands and the Crown had not bothered with them. It was time to turn their head towards the North though and seek an alliance with them.

It had been attempted once, a long time ago. The feat had belonged to one of Rhaenyra's sons by her first husband, Laenor Velayrion, Rhaella could not recall his one the boy. But nothing had come of it. Perhaps the second time around the result would be more to the satisfaction of all involved. A Stark and a Targaryen, ice and fire – just like the song of old. How wonderful that would be.

"Mother!" The loud sound of her son's voice broke her out of her thoughts. Rhaella looked down towards the source. Rhaegar was looking up at her, holding a slim volume in his hand. "You said you would read it to me." He held the book towards her with all the grace of an eight year old.

With a small sigh, Rhaella took the volume. It was Valyrian poetry. Or at least what had survived of it through the writings of maesters and other poets of Essos. Rhaella leaves through the pages, searching for something appropriate. Rhaegar had been most insistent in his desire to learn Valyrian, but his father hadn't allowed it, saying that Rhaegar would learn only when it was time for him to. Rhaella, on the other hand, had been more understanding. It was no easy work teaching the complicated language to a child, but her son was quick enough. A maester would be able to work wonders with him, she was sure.

Rhaegar could sit and listen to her for hours on end, lost in his own dreams, Rhaella would sometimes think as she spied his expression. Clearly, he would not give up the notion of learning. The common tongue posed little problem to him, and she knew that he had already hidden under his bed a tome containing the history of their house. The Seven help them all when the boy finally discovered the true content of all the volumes he brought to her. Suppressing an amused smile, Rhaella continued reading.

"Valar morghulis," her son carefully repeated after her. "What is that, mother?"

"It is a saying that translates to 'all men must die'." Rhaella lowered the book onto her lap. "Traditionally one answers to it with valar dohaeris. All men must serve. They greet each other with these words in Essos."

"Why don't we do the same?" The questions made the Queen blink. Rhaegar, however, had donned his most serious mien and was waiting patiently for a reply. The minds of children, Rhaella considered, were strange indeed and quite curious of the most unusual things.

"High Valyrian is less usual in Westeros, my son. One must speak the language of the people one rules. It creates a bridge between us all." And very few people did have a good, expanded knowledge of that tongue.

"But may be speak it here?" he insisted. "How am I to learn it if I do not practice, mother?"

"Your father shall be cross with us if he hears, love. But I am willing to keep the secret, if you are." Rhaella leaned in towards him, holding out her hand in an inviting gesture. "Remember, a Prince is only as good as his word."

"I do promise mother. He shan't hear a word of it from me." There was something inexplicably sweet about the way her son pouted. Rhaella nodded her head in acceptance of his words and took his small hand in hers.

"Come, I have just remembered that I have the loveliest little play in one of those drawers. Would you help me find it?" she asked, gently guiding Rhaegar out of his chair.

"Is it in Valyrian?" How typical that question sounded to her ears.

"Indeed it is. There is much to learn from it too." So mother and son started their search.

On the small table a piece of paper lay forgotten for the moment, the plea written in black ink soaked forever into the whiteness.


	2. Rickard I

There was a chill in the air and the flickering light of the torch was barely enough to drown out the overwhelming darkness that had closed its fingers around the lone figure sitting on the ground. Next to the man, a lone skin laid empty in the dirt. At first glance it was hard to tell what the man was doing. He was down on his knees, holding his head in the palms of his hands, fingers curled into dark hair. He was not at prayer by the looks of him, nor was he commemorating a departed one.

The man was mourning. The slab of stone on which he rested his elbows was the wall that separated him from the only creature he had loved more than life itself. 'Twas Rickard Stark that grieved for one who had left far too soon.

"I wasn't supposed to be thus, Lyarra. You promised me a lifetime." Yet Lyarra could not hear. She was beyond the realm of men, having crossed over to the land of shadows. A shade herself, if the old gods had taken her into their keeping; that, Rickard wanted to believe. And yet he could not reconcile himself to her abrupt departure.

She had left him without warning. "I do not understand, Lya. The master was sure you were fine. You yourself said you were fine." But she hadn't been fine.

The birthing had left her weak, and where there was weakness there was also the hand of death. Lyarra had seemed so strong to him, so safe. Yet, as she held her newborn son in her arms, another child began pushing forth. And she had screamed. She had cried out so loudly that the very foundations of the keep shook with her ache. His sweet Lyarra, she had given her life for the second child to be born.

Her daughter she never held in her arms. As Lyanna Stark drew breath her mother breathed her last and Rickard was presented with two children, a son and a daughter, twins. But where one was a healthy mite, the other had not been so lucky. The girl, when she first opened her eyes, regarded the world through two flat chips of ice, their grey colour dull.

The master claimed that the child was sightless. Rickard had been angered at the news, raging for days on end, refusing to see his daughter, not even Nan could convince him to hold the child. "I will not touch what the gods have cursed," he had yelled when the old woman had attempted to put the babe in his arms. She had murdered her own mother, therefore she did not deserve his care or his affection.'

That, however, did not stop him from hearing her weep in the night. As per his orders, Lyanna had been given a room all of her own, away from all her siblings, least the stain of her birth contaminate his sons. Still, whenever he listened, he could hear her frail whimpers ring out in the dark. He heard her even as he stood at Lyarra's grave. "What am I to do with her, Lya? She is a cursed creature, her shoulders burdened at the very minute of her birth." Steps sounded out behind him. Rickard did not turn.

"Father," his five year old son called out. Again, Rickard ignored the noise. "Father, you must come. There is a letter. From the Queen herself."

"Go away, boy," Rickard managed to spit out. "Go!"

But his eldest was not to be dissuaded. Brandon Stark was his and Lyarra's first child, his mother's son, the favourite in her eyes. He had held her love in a way that her second born, Nerd, could never equal. Rickard could barely look at him. Brandon had his mother's eyes, blue and lively, and the same joy in his gait. The father simply could not gaze upon his child.

Maester Walys, however, had followed the boy. "Leave your father be, young Brandon. You may go back to Nan and listen to her stories while I discuss with Lord Stark."

Seemingly in an obedient mood for the time being, Brandon nodded his head and left, murmuring under his breath, like small children often did, no doubt thinking on snarks and grumkins and many other stories. Lyarra had not liked those stories. She hadn't liked it either when Nan told those stories to the children. Alas, Lyarra was gone and Nan could tell her stories in peace.

Taking away the wineskin, Walys deposited it at a safe distance, hanging his own torch on the wall. "My lord, Her Majesty, Queen Rhaella, writes to us on urgent business. She wishes to know if there is a daughter you might part with and favour her by sending the child to King's Landing to serve as companion."

"What?" The wine was making him sluggish. Rickard shook his head. "Me? Have a daughter I could send south?" He laughed at that. There was no trace of amusement in the sounds that left his mouth, ringing grotesquely through the cavernous space. "She wants that thing, that foul child which slew her mother?"

"My lord, 'twas no the babe's fault. Lady Lyarra was weak from the earlier birth. The gods have taken her away, not your daughter." The words sounded in his ears, but he shook them away. Maester Walys sighed. "What shall I reply to Her Majesty?"

Rickard searched for the wine. He cursed when his hand met nothing but dirt. The lord looked up into the blazing torch. What to do? He did not want to keep the child. And she was blind. No lord in his right mind would wed her with that infirmity. She was useless.

"Let the Queen have her, Walys. What need have I of her anyway?" He spat in the dirt, a sign of disgust. "But don't tell her about the blindness. She might reconsider and not want her anymore. Simply send her along with a wet-nurse. Let the Queen do as she wishes after that."

He just wanted to be alone with Lyarra. All the thinking was making his head hurt. "Go now, Walys, and do as I've said. Write to the Queen that she can expect the girl as soon as it is humanly possible on these roads."

* * *

><p>Voices were coming from the room in which none should be but Lyanna and her wet-nurse. Rickard's ire grew with the knowledge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open in time to see Brandon peering at the little girl, as Ned held her, helped by Nan.<p>

"What is the meaning of this?" he barked, startling the babes who then began weeping. That stirred no pity in his breast. Rickard took two steps towards them. "What are you doing in here?" he asked his sons, yelling over the screams of the babes.

"We just wanted to say our farewell," Ned offered by way of explanation, his small foot kicking at the dust on the ground. "Nan said our sister was leaving."

"She did," Brandon agreed, "and we waned to say farewell." Unlike his brother, the more daring Brandon looked his father in the eyes as he spoke. "Is she really leaving?"

"Aye. Now leave this room." He turned a blind eye to the angry stare Nan threw him and ushered the children out. As they were leaving, Rickard could swear he heard the woman say something. Yet, as he wanted no conflict with her, he allowed the comment to pass.

Inside remained only him and the wet-nurse. The young woman looked at him with a guilty stare. "Have you packed everything?" She nodded. "Is there anything else you will be needing?" The woman shook her head. "There is nothing you wish to tell me?"

Arra, he believed her name was, bit her lip and rocked the babe in her arms. "If my lord would hold her for a moment, that would be all."

Rickard stared incredulous at her. "Hold her?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He tipped his head slightly back, a chuckle leaving his lips. "Nay, I will not hold her. If that is all, you may leave." And the sooner she did, the better. "You shall be waited for in King's Landing, the bird we've sent must have reached its destination by now."

With a small pout, Arra nodded her head. "I understand, my lord. Am I to remain in King's Landing with her?"

"Only if the Queen requests it of you, girl. If not, come back here." Clear instructions had been given. Of that Rickard was sure. "Now leave my sight with that."

Thankfully, Arra knew not to test his patience. She gripped the child tighter to her chest and made her way out the door, certain that another one of the servants would see to bringing the small satchels she had left behind.

Unable to stand there and do nothing, Rickard followed them to the yard, watching as they loaded everything in a small wheelhouse. He wondered just how much Nan would have to say to him. Then he realised he did not care.

As the wheelhouse made its way towards the gates, Rickard thought he had never felt freer. Finally, he was no longer forced to live under the shadow of Lyarra's death. He could breath. His lungs filled with air and the sky opened up.

Rickard stood in the pouring rain, still as a stone.

* * *

><p>"You are not the boy I raised," Nan said, her small figure having planted itself in the doorway. Rickard looked up at her from where he sat at his desk. "How could you do that to a babe? Your own child. You own flesh and blood."<p>

"I am under no obligation to discuss my decisions with you." His gaze returned to the letter which he had been reading. _I have a son._ That was what the Queen had written. She wished for his daughter, to raise her along her own son. She wanted a sister to her son. Rickard nearly laughed. Well, at least one person would have their wish fulfilled.

He wondered, truly, what the Queen's reaction would be when she found out about just the sort of child she'd been delivered. Would she return Lyanna? Or keep her? Rickard had written in reply to her letter that he was willing to send his daughter to King's Landing. But he had also given a note to the wet-nurse. If the Queen refused Lyanna, then she was to be left with anyone that would take her.

"Rickard Stark, what is the meaning of this preposterous behaviour?" the old woman raised her voice. "Lyarra would have not stood–"

"Lyarra is dead," Rickard cut her off sharply. "My wife is not to be brought in this." What Lyarra would have wanted, he could not know. "And from this day forth, you are not allowed to mention anything about her or Lyanna."

Nan's eyes barrowed dangerously. "Do not be impertinent, boy. I know you as well as your mother did, may the gods rest her. You shall regret this decision some day and then it'll be too late."

"Be it on my head then." But in his heart, Rickard knew that he would never come to regret it. He had wanted Lyanna gone, but hadn't the strength to leave her somewhere out in the woods to starve. He had wished her presence removed, and the Queen's letter had arrived. It was the best solution he could have hoped for.

With a huff and an emphatic shake of her head, Nan turned away from him. Rickard shrugged and returned to what he had been doing, as the sound of her footsteps was lost against the flagstone, growing fainter and fainter.

The woman might have raised him, but he was still her lord and his decisions were his own to take. If ever she spoke to him as she had, Rickard promised himself that she would be disciplined. He would not stand for impertinence from a common woman. Nor would he allow her words to touch him. He had done what was best.

"If the Queen is so desperate for her, then she'll care for Lyanna," he muttered under his breath, signing his name on a parchment. "Or someone else shall. Either way, I have done my duty by the child." Lyarra, wherever she was, understood, he knew.

Rickard stood up from his chair and walked to the window.

* * *

><p>Brandon drew lines in the dirt, a pout on his lips. He paid no mind to his younger brother who has seated himself under a tree, watching their father in fascination. Rickard himself was wielding his sword, cutting imaginary enemies left and right. He brought his sword down in a wide arc, slicing through the air with a loud whooshing sound.<p>

There was, unfortunately, no worthy opponent to match him, so Rickard trained alone. He had agreed to take Brandon and Rickard with him, if only to quieten the. Since their sister had been sent away, they trailed after him like to pups, begging not to be given away like Lyanna had been. Rickard had sworn to them that he wouldn't, yet not even his solemn oath seemed to calm them.

Nan would not intervene. She barely even deigned to speak to him when they were in the same chamber and she flat-out refused to aid him. Her only reaction was to blink slowly at Brandon or Ned whenever they asked a reassurance of her and shrug gently as if she could not quite understand what they wished for. She would drive him insane one day, Rickard thought.

"Father, can I try too?" Ned asked, his small feet carrying him rapidly towards his parent. Unlike Brandon, Ned seemed to take his mother's departure in strides. His older brother was forever oscillating between extreme happiness and tremendous melancholy. It was as if every day he found out for the first time about Lyarra's death.

It was the wolf's blood running in his veins. The same recklessness had run in Lyarra's veins. Not only did Brandon look like her, but he also had her traits. He was a creature of great passion and even greater capacity, yet Rickard feared the boy would be unable to channel his power when it counted. Ned, on the other hand, was milder. A quiet boy, he preferred to watch and learn, to wait patiently and ask his questions one at a time. He was his father's image.

Rickard bent down and helped Ned hold Ice. The sword was twice his length and very dangerous. "Pay mind to my words, son," he said, "never grip such a sword by the steel. It shall cut your hand clean off. Grab it just so by the hilt and lift it like this." He aided the boy in lifting it high. "Then we bring it down thus." They remained like that for a time, with Rickard instructing Ned. His boys were too young to learn their way around weapons, but one day, they would squire for other lord and until then they would have to be taught with great diligence and care.

And the daughter he had given away could have been a great lady, his mind whispered accusingly. She could have grown in her father's house surrounded by her brothers. Rickard shook the thought away. He reminded himself, rather firmly, that he had no daughter and continued with his lesson.

"May we go riding?" Brandon spoke loudly from behind the duo, breaking their concentration. Rickard turned towards the boy with a raised eyebrow. Brandon repeated his earlier question, his voice just shy of being unsure the second time around. "May we for a ride, father? Sitting here is boring."

"Then perhaps you ought to come here and help your brother," Rickard suggested. "After we shall go riding if you still wish it." He held a hand out towards the boy. Brandon dropped the stick and rushed towards them.

One year older than Ned, Brandon was a tall child even at his age. He was also quite strong, able to put down his brother without much problem. Brandon had been born to be a fighter. Ned, not so much. But with proper training, both of them would be fine warriors.

"Now, Brandon, do not push your brother." His son flushed at the admonition but stopped what he'd been doing, which was pushing Ned's hands away from the hilt of the sword. "You may both try to lift it together. Teamwork is essential here. Let us see how you do."

Of course they bickered. Not two moments had passed before the children started squabbling, each of them insisting upon their own idea. Rickard watched them with interest. He would step in only when his presence was needed.

In the end, they did manage to reach a compromise and the sword was lifted from the ground. As he had promised, Rickard took them riding as a reward, much to their joy. But as they returned, passing through the godswood, Rickard looked up to one of the red leaves and gasped.

On the thin surface a tiny face had formed at it looked down on him. Its vacant eyes pierced right through him. Those were Lyanna's eyes he saw. And there was resentment in them. Kicking his horse in the flanks, Rickard ripped his gaze away from the leaf. His heart was pounding in his chest and there was a strange buzzing in his ears. He feared he knew not what.

"Father," Ned and Brandon called out. He barely glanced at them. They tried again, but to no avail.

Rickard was looking back towards the weirwood tree, its grave eyes trailing them. Did the gods look at him accusingly? They were the ones who cursed the child. The lord steeled himself against the fear. It had been his imagination, if he thought better of it.

It couldn't have been his daughter. She was leagues away with the wet-nurse. Turning back towards his sons, Rickard gave them a short nod. "Come, let us hurry or we shall miss all the good food by the time we arrive."

With whoops of joy, Brandon and Ned sent their ponies into a trot, Rickard's bay following at a languid pace. Food had a way of solving many frustrations.

For one last time Rickard glanced back. To his horror, Lyarra stood at the edge of the wood, eyes glowing red. She frowned.


	3. Rhaegar I

He had crawled under the bed as soon as she'd heard the footsteps in the hall. When the volume was that loud is usually meant that father was coming. One could always hear the steel of the Kingsguards armour rattling. His mother had told him to not come out until she had had words with his father. Rhaegar had nodded solemnly and hidden under the bed.

And he waited for the door to open and for the words to start flowing. He didn't understand why his parents fought so much and so frequent, but perhaps there was an explanation for it. One he would understand when he was grown. His mother always said he would understand it all better when he was grown.

Breathing as softly as he could, Rhaegar strained to hear the conversation that had started. The two voices filled the room, carrying on into the hallways no doubt.

"I have told you I do not condone consulting that witch," Aerys was yelling at his wife. "She's fed you lies and made you believe in snarks and grumkins. There is no curse here, woman. Your womb must be broken."

"Brother, I beg of you, listen to me." His mother then said something too softy for him to catch. Rhaegar reckoned he wouldn't have understood anyway, as the words sounded foreign. "I gave you a child. And he survived. We could have more."

"And we are. Just not with the help of that witch." His father seemed unmovable. Rhaegar wondered if his mother would start weeping. She did that sometimes.

But Rhaella herself had started a defence for the old woman. Rhaegar could not understand what that creature possibly had to say to his mother. She had been by often. He wrinkled her nose. The woods witch smelled strange. It was not a spicy scent, nor was it particularly pleasant. Rhaegar was left with the taste of rotting rat in his mouth – not that he knew what that tasted like – whenever his nose picked up the smell.

Yet his mother insisted, on and on, that the witch had told her about a curse. She even claimed she knew how to break it. His father had grown quiet. Rhaegar could see his legs stretching out. He had sat down in one of the chairs near the window. His mother had followed suit. She continued to speak.

"I need only claim a daughter of Lord Stark's and keep her near me. I have made the arrangements," she explained.

"And what have you told Lord Stark?" Aerys questioned, his voice holding a small amount of amusement. "Did you speak to him about curses? I'm sure the man will be much inclined to send the child your way." His foot tapped against the ground. Rhaegar could almost imagine him frowning. "What father doesn't wish his daughter raised near a cursed Queen?" He laughed, strident and ugly.

Rhaegar's lower lip trembled when he heard his mother speak again. Her voice was enough for him to know that tears pooled in her eyes. "Do stop, Aerys. I am telling you we can have more children. It is a small price to pay. She's just a girl."

"A girl who will grow up with certain expectations." Rhaegar was confused. His father did not seem pleased by the fact that they could raise a daughter well. "And what do we do with her when you are no longer in your childbearing years?"

"We treat her as our own." His mother stood to her feet and walked to the small desk at the other end of the room. She took a large tome from it and returned to Aerys' side. She deposited the book in his arms after having opened it. "Here."

His father murmured words, as if he were reading out loud. Rhaegar narrowed his eyes in annoyance at not knowing what was being said. However, they did not keep him waiting long. His curiosity was assuaged when Aerys closed the tome with a loud sound. "What would this gain us?"

"They are descendants of the First Men, husband, they are also an old house. Far older than us. Wasn't that the primary reason for which Maekar wed Lady Dyanna Dayne?" Rhaegar bit his lip at the question. The conversation was starting to make sense. "The North is the biggest kingdom of all the seven. An eight thousand year old name, the biggest effective of men and an indestructible tie to our house; let us not forget the song, Aerys."

"The song," his father repeated. "You think this could be it?"

Quickly sorting through all the songs he knew, Rhaegar tried to find one that fit the current situation. Nothing came to mind. What song could they be speaking of?

"It has to be. The song of ice and fire." The name meant nothing to him. Rhaegar wondered when they would be done with their talk. He was starting to feel strange. "The prophecy, brother, I tell you 'tis the prophecy."

His head was starting to smart. Song and prophecies and so many things he knew nothing about filled his mind. He would have to ask mother about it. About all of it. But until that time came he dearly wished his father would leave, so he could get out from under the bed.

"Very well, if you are so invested in this scheme, I shall allow it." The magnanimous statement drew a gasp from his mother's lips. Rhaegar could sense that the end was near. "But if this charm of yours proves useless, there will be consequences." The ominous feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach rather put Rhaegar in the mind of cuts and bruises. He shuddered.

"I understand," Rhaella replied. "And you have my word that it shall be as you wish."

The sound of footsteps assaulted his ears and Rhaegar could see his father walking across the floor, towards the door. Something flashed in the hallway and the door closed with a loud sound. A long moment of silence followed.

"Rhaegar, come out from under the bed," his mother said, kneeling on the ground. "He is gone. Let us continue our lessons."

Before his father had interrupted with his tirade, mother had been teaching him High Valyrian as she had promised. Thankfully, the King had been too busy questioning his wife to notice the paper and books they had left on the desk. Or he might have been too stunned by the news the Queen's wish to raise a child that was not her own. Whichever the case, Rhaegar's interest had shifted from languages to prophecies and songs.

"Mother, what is this song of ice and fire?" he asked, unperturbed for a moment.

Rhaella sighed. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. She seemed to be searching for words. "It is a prophecy, my son. A promise of salvation, if you will. A long time ago, Daenys Targaryen, sometimes called the Dreamer, had visions about the fate of the world. She wrote down these dreams into a book which has been lost for long a time now." Rhaegar looked at his mother in wonder, leaning in closer. "Among her many dreams, she also had a vision of salvation. Part of it has been preserved in a Song of Ice and Fire."

"How does this song sound?" Rhaella laughed at the question, gently touching his cheek.

"It is not a song in itself, son. 'Tis but words, and we have only fragments of it." She went on to tell about the prince that was promised, a figure of legend, a hero long awaited, that was to be born in the house of the dragon.

Rhaegar tipped his head to the side. It seemed a strange thing that a song did not have a sound. If a song was only spoken, or not even a song, why name it a song? It did not make any sense. His mother, however, had finished with the explanation concerning prophecies and songs that were not songs.

His lesson in High Valyrian continued, though his concentration had significantly dropped since the morning. Had he not heard a word about the prophecy, he might have been able to pay proper attention to the first declension of nouns, but as it was, he was trying to find answers to these questions that had bloomed in his mind.

"Rhaegar," Rhaella called his attention, "do pay attention. I do not enjoy speaking to the walls."

"Apologies, mother." He looked down at the paper. The words written there made sense, which was comforting as it went to show that there were some things he actually knew. He did not enjoy not having answers. Alas, he was not likely to get the answers anytime soon.

"Now, pay careful attention to this verb. Depending on the context, it can mean two different things," his mother continued, showing him exampled of what she meant. "If you are not careful, you might speak words you do not mean."

And that was among the first important lessons he had learned from his mother in his young years. Words were important. In later years, he would remember, though not in great detail, the conversation. Words held power, sway, meaning, and they could seal one's fate.

* * *

><p>Edwyna Celtigar had been tasked with watching him. Rhaegar did not know where his mother had gone. The Queen had been called away quite suddenly by a Septa whose name Rhaegar had forgotten. There had been excitement on her face, so Rhaegar hadn't been overly worried.<p>

However, that had been quite some time ago and her return did not seem any nearer. Edwyna continued to watch his rather like a hawk, her pinched face rather out of place near the fully bloomed rosebush. Out of all his mother's ladies-in-waiting, she was the one he disliked the most. A strange woman with a harsh voice and barely any warmth to her, Rhaegar wondered if she even knew how to smile.

"Your Grace, have a care," the woman called out, raising one of her hands slightly in a prohibitive gesture. "One of the hounds might be sleeping in the bushes."

They did that sometimes, his father's hounds. The King was not a great hunter, but he did own hounds. They were well-behaved creatures so long as they'd been fed, which was not usually forgotten. The one time it did happen, they broke into the kitchens and stole a whole chicken which they then devoured in front of the stunned cooks and whatever other servants had been present.

At that time Rhaegar had been much too young to walk, still a babe in the arms, so he hadn't seen it, but the story had endured.

Rhaegar poked the bush with the stick he was holding. "There are no hounds here." The fates must have been on his side, for no wild beast jumped out from between the foliage to gnaw his face off. Had he actually caught one of those hounds in the ribs or any other part of anatomy for that matter, he would have been a few fingers short.

Mayhap more understanding than he would have given her credit for; Edwyna left her comfortable spot and reached for his hand. "Your Grace, this is not appropriate play." She took the stick out of his hand and threw it away. It seemed that danger lurked around every corner. "Come sit with me, and we shall wait for Her Majesty together."

With a small roll of his eyes, Rhaegar walked after Lady Celtigar, wondering if he might induce mother to never leave him with her. He would even take Bess Hill over her, though Bess was rather annoying with all her cloying speech. But at least she would let him run around a bit. Even mother allowed it, so long as he did not go out of sight.

They sat down under one of the old tall trees, waiting for the Queen to make her appearance.

When his mother finally returned, her women had flocked around her, cooing and shushing one another in a manner that suggested both care and amazement. Rhaegar shot up from his place and ran towards his mother. Rhaella waved her ladies-in-waiting away, a small smile on her face. She looked up from the bundle she was holding. "Come, son, I want you to meet someone."

He was presented with a small creature, wrapped in pristine cloth. A small face stared up at him as his mother helped him form a cradle with his arms. He'd never held a child before. Rhaegar stared curiously down at light grey eyes and a heedful of short dark hair.

The child gurgled softly, startling him. Rhaegar instinctively jumped, knocking backwards into his mother. Thankfully, he did not drop the babe.

"Do not be afraid," his mother spoke, her hand touching his shoulder gently. "This is Lyanna and she is your sister from this day on." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rhaegar could hear his father's voice, speaking about consequences.

"What is wrong with her eyes?" he could not help asking. The child had been fixing him with her stare and though he had moved a bit, her eyes had not followed his movement. They simply stared upwards, a thin film gleaming over them.

One of the women took little Lyanna from his arms and Rhaella drew him away. His mother knelt before him, a frown on her face. "Lyanna cannot see, my son. She cannot see like you and I, but she is ours and we must take care of her."

"Is she my sister then?" One was supposed to care for one sibling's. For a moment, his mother's face seemed surprised. She the nodded slowly.

"Nay, Rhaegar, but she is ours. Do you understand?" He did not, but he nodded anyway. "Good. She is very important."

"I shall protect her, mother, I promise." His solemnity seemed to fuel the amusement of the people around him. Rhaegar glanced towards Lyanna once again, only to see that she had fallen asleep.

* * *

><p>Life had a way of falling into place. It had taken Rhaegar some time to understand that. However, by the time he was ten, the lesson had been firmly ingrained in his mind. The miracle that came about only served to strengthen that belief.<p>

Since the arrival of Lyanna Stark, something had changed. Not only for him, but for the court itself. Of course, the King had not been enthusiastic at the arrival of the child. He had protested her stay and he'd been sceptic of the witch's words, but his mother had insisted by her and Rhaegar himself grew fond of the child in whose presence he was often to be found when other duties did not require his attention.

Much fuss was made when the Queen discovered she was with child. By way of protecting herself, his mother had taken to keeping Lyanna near her, even going as far as to let the girl sleep in her bed. It was a rather convenient arrangement, truth be told, as Lyanna herself was comfortable with the Queen, in away that she was not with many people, and her presence seemed to be helping his mother.

The true miracle was the fact that the Queen gave birth to a babe, small and with a weakness in his lungs, to whom the maesters gave little chance of survival. In a rage, Aerys had wanted to punish the woods witch for tricking them, but he had also panned on sending Lyanna Stark away. Yet when Lyanna approached the babe, holding him in her small arms. The maester could find no explanation for what happened in that moment, yet when the child was deposited back in his cradle, his lungs had strengthened tenfold and his was no longer sickly.

Rhaella had smiled triumphantly at her husband when she presented him her healthy son and for the first time since her arrival the King acknowledged Lyanna as one of their own. Rhaegar had been holding her hand, trying to keep her upright, when his father had staggered down from the throne, in the cheers of the nobles gathered there, and walked towards his oldest son and the small, blind child he had allowed his wife to raise.

Lyanna, of course, had not been aware of his approach. Her small fingers had curled tightly around Rhaegar's hand. It was something she did frequently, understandably. A healthy child in all other respects, Lyanna's only flaw was the fact that her eyes could see no light.

Since she lacked sight, there was a fear in her of falling. A person near her might expect to be caught by the sleeve or by the arm and help her move around. The Red Keep was quite large. Most of the time, though, Rhaegar was quite happy to aid her.

A small sound had left her lips when the King picked her up, but she did not weep. Since she hadn't released Rhaegar's hand and her grip had been quite strong, he had had no choice but to raise his arm as his father held the child in the air.

"Well done," he had spoken in a booming voice. "Well done, daughter." And that had been that. His words had tied Lyanna irrevocably to the ruling house, a sign of the King's acceptance of the Queen's plans.

Once her feet were back on the ground, Lyanna pushed herself into his side and Rhaegar smiled down at her though he knew she could not see it. The birth of his brother was to mark Lyanna's formal entrance into House Targaryen, though it would be years before Rhaegar learned on it. It was the very proof of her effectiveness that had the King convinced that she was a worthy consort of the throne.

All others, however, had been left with the impression that Aerys had welcomed Lyanna as he would a daughter of his blood. But they knew not about the song of ice and fire.

In the back of the room, a figure shrouded in dark colours watched the proceeding events.


	4. Lyanna I

Her world started with darkness. There was no light of day to greet her eyes when she came out of her mother's womb. There was no blessed beam to fall upon the crown of her head. Nay, Lyanna Stark's world began with an all consuming blackness, a veil of smoke that covered every detail that she so hungrily sought to learn through any means possible.

In the five years of her existence, Lyanna had been coddled and cosseted, a pampered darling daughter of a warm presence manifested through a dulcet voice which had the power to soothe her. That was all Lyanna had to recognise the woman who loved her by. She was not Lyanna's mother in truth. Arra had told her one day, after Lyanna had called the Queen mother for the first time. She had said Lyanna was the daughter of a great Northerner lord and his wife, who had died in childbed. Rhaella had been so angry.

Her scent had enveloped Lyanna all of a sudden and she heard her yelling at Arra. "She is my daughter. How dare you claim otherwise, miserable wretch?" That had sacred her. She had begun crying in her mother's arms – for Rhaella had insisted to be called 'mother', despite the lack of a blood bond between them. "There, there, sweet child. Do not weep. Mother shan't let anything get to you." Something soft pressed against her forehead, cool against her hot skin.

That had been a long time ago. That had been when mother had been hale and hearty. A shrill cry ripped through the charged silence that dominated the hallway. Lyanna clutched her brother's hand tighter and hid her head in his chest, a small scared whimper leaving her lips. She could feel Rhaegar's hand rubbing gentle circles against her back.

"There's no need to be scared," he told her quietly. There was something encouraging about his unwavering faith that all would be well. "Come now, Lyanna. Be brave." Another scream tore through the premises reaching her ears.

"But mother is hurting," she replied in a small voice that sounded scratchy to her own ears. "Why is she crying?"

Rhaegar's hold tightened on her, as if his embrace could drive away all her fears. Lyanna burrowed deeper in his warmth, clinging to him with all the obstinacy of an infant in the presence of the sole source of familiarity in a sea of unknown. She could only hope that he would not let go and set her adrift.

"It'll be over soon," Rhaegar promised. She could hear the strain in his voice though. He worried. The Grand Maester had said that the babe was too early. It was a risk, bringing the child into the world, he'd said. But the King had insisted that they try to save the babe's life. In fact, at the first sign of trouble, they were to bring the little she-wolf to the Queen's bedside.

It had been agreed upon that Lyanna would be the first to hold the child when that time came. And thus, in the middle of the night – or so Lyanna thought, for she could not feel the warmth of the sun on her skin when she'd left her bedchamber – and had her brought to the antechamber where she was to wait. Rhaegar too had come, arriving only short moments after her. He had taken her up in his arms and held her through the long hours that followed.

There was something rather conscientiously kind in the way he treated her. But it was not, she had learned, pity. Many of those who saw her felt the need to pity her; as if pity would regain her sight or comfort or even respect. She heard them speak about her as if she were not in the room, whispering carefully about the poor blind child. It had always been on the tip of her tongue to yell at them that she could hear perfectly well. Some people thought that her lack of sight made a witless creature out of her. But she was no such person. As soon as she could utter words, a Septa had been given strict orders to instruct the child in all things that could be achieved and where traditionally feminine arts could not be conquered, Lyanna had to make do with history, poetry, natural philosophy and rhetoric. She could not see, but she could hear and she could speak. And words had a power of their own. Just like her gentle Rhaegar's words did.

Life at court was a tale of splendour that hid a hint of decrepitude just beneath the surface. If the light of day, warm and bright – or do Lyanna had been told – showed one friendly faces and a mask of respect, the night was filled with bloodthirsty monsters, conspiring to bring destruction, to shamed, humiliate and ground to dust any opponent. Was needn't be the brightest individual to figure such matters out. Besides, the king himself trusted almost no one and his distrust washed over his family, they in turns gazing with suspicion towards lords and ladies of good blood. It was a vicious circle in which the enemy was everywhere and nowhere and one's weapons were wit and wisdom.

"Do you think we'll have a sister?" Lyanna questioned after a few moments. Her hands had naturally drifted to some decorative small chain on his shirt, which she pulled and twisted gently between tiny fingers. "I would like a sister."

Low laughter drifted against her ears. "I'm well pleased with the sister I have," Rhaegar insisted. He often called her thus, his sister, most of the time when other lords and ladies were in attendance. When alone, he would call her by name. It forever made Lyanna wonder at the necessity.

The King and Queen were much the same. She was Lyanna when in private, but if she happened to be with them in a place where other also gathered, she was daughter, or child. And she had been instructed to fashion her behaviour by what she was called. Lyanna had a certain freedom to her speech and mannerism, but the daughter or the child was to speak when spoken to, answer only what was asked of them and make it seems as if naught was ever amiss. Her prodigious result in the area never displeased and she was often praised when ears did not listen. Still, to her it seemed the strangest of things and possibly quite unnatural, how one person could be entirely unrecognisable in the transition from private to public.

Creaking and squeaking alerted her that a door had opened. Lyanna waited for the eerie stillness to be interrupted by yet another yelp of pain or some such manifestation of mother's own brand of warring. Nothing of that nature came. However, hurried steps could be heard falling against the stones.

"Your Grace, the little lady is needed," a female voice whispered, atremble. Fear could be distinguished in those words.

Lyanna felt Rhaegar's hold slacken and another pair of hands helped her down and led her away. Lyanna did not bother looking up, nor did she ask for the woman's name. "How is mother?" she questioned instead.

"Her majesty is well," the woman answered in an almost soothing manner. That could only mean that the child must have something. Otherwise the birth would have caused more of an uproar.

The Queen had often said that Lyanna was her charm of good fortune. Of course, Lyanna herself could not understand how that worked. Nor could she credit it. Still, the crone that was more or less a councillor to Rhaella Targaryen insisted that indeed she was a talisman that could only do good. But if she really were such a creature, with that potential running through her veins, then surely she would have found a way to cure herself first.

Soft sobs permeated the room, ringing out in its relative silence. Lyanna recognised the voice as belonging to her mother. "Bring the child to me," she heard the Queen say. She was promptly lifted off her feet and carried towards what she could only assume was a bed. The mattress creaked under her added weight, dipping gently. Warm arms wrapped around her. "My dear." Soft kisses were pressed against her cheeks and forehead. "Would you like to hold your brother?"

A single nod was the only answer Lyanna gave. She had been shown countless times how one should go about holding a child. A small bundle was placed in her arms, after someone made sure they had assumed a correct position. "You were no bigger than him," the Queen spoke again, something akin to affection in her voice. Lyanna heard soft gurgling from the child, but no crying. That was very strange indeed.

"The pallor is fading," someone whispered as if in awe. "She really is a miracle worker."

"Well done," my beautiful girl. "Well done." A familiar touch pressed softly against her shoulder. Lyanna smiles, hoping it would be understood without words that she was only too happy to do whatever she could for those she loved.

"His Majesty, call His Majesty."

* * *

><p>Her sixth nameday came on a relatively chilly day. Lyanna shivered under the mound of blankets and curled into herself for warmth. Up until the particular day, the weather had been much kinder. With a whine of displeasure she tried to hold on to the suddenly flying coverings.<p>

"None of that," Rhaegar's voice reached her eras. "Do you wish to waste this special day abed?"

"Aye," Lyanna replied, quite without shame. There was no point in trying to lie to Rhaegar anyway. He knew her well enough to have understood that morning spent abed, huddled underneath the thick covers were a balm to her soul. "Juts because you enjoy being up and about with the sun does not mean so do the rest of us."

Her complaint was met with a snort. "Help her dress," he spoke, presumably to one of Lyanna's helpers. "And bring her to the courtyard after."

"Why?" Lyanna asked, not mind one bit that she might have cut him off.

"That, my lady," Rhaegar began, the formal address very much out of place, "remains to be seen."

There were times when her dear – most of the time anyway, at least when he did not insist upon waking her from sleep at ungodly hours – friend got it into his head to do something or another and no amount of persuading him would put a stop to such plans. Lyanna was quite sure her nameday would be one of those days. Rhaegar was always available to be at her side when one such day came around. She could not rightly understand why he insisted on spending the entire day with her, but she did not protest either. It was nice to have someone who understood that despite her shortcomings, she did not need to be treated as a nitwit.

"I think we should go with the blue dress, my lady," a kind voice said. "Or would you prefer the green one." Her ladies sometimes asked her which colour she preferred although they knew fully well that Lyanna could not discern between them. It was a matter of choice, of allowing her the say, she suspected.

Pursing her lips Lyanna considered the matter for a few moments. "The blue one should do." After all, the King himself had made a gift of that gown to her, claiming that blue was the colour which suited her best. And given that it was her nameday, he might come and see her. And if he did, he should be pleased that she took his words to heart.

They went about the morning routine somewhat swifter than they normally would, many hands pulling and prodding. Lyanna tried her best to remain relaxed in their care and not wince when someone accidentally tugged harder than was necessary on a thick strand of hair. She wondered, not for the first time, how she looked in the eyes of others. To her it was all the same, a sea of darkness which allowed for no glimmer of light.

She walked freely down the hall, counting every footfall. It took no more than thirty small steps to reach the staircase. Lyanna pushed her shoulder against the wall and took a step forward. It was a long way down and her count began once more. Behind her other footsteps sounded out. There was always someone walking behind her and a person waiting at the foot of the stairs. Most of the time their interventions was unnecessary, yet both the King And Queen insisted upon their presence, claiming that one should always be prepared.

Far from being offended by such care, Lyanna allowed herself to be relaxed in the presence of those people. They watched her like hawks, true, but they also made sure she didn't fall and break her neck. Which was always a good thing.

"Myra," Lyanna called after one of her ladies.

"Yes, my lady?" the other replies.

"What's in the courtyard?" A short silence followed the question. Lyanna continued to climb down the steps. She wondered if Myra knew. It was unusual for that woman not to know something, but it had happened before.

"I couldn't say, my lady." Myra had hurried her step after she spoke. Lyanna recognised in such behaviour a desire to avoid further questions.

A small sigh made its way past her lips. They had reached the bottom. Lyanna knew that from that point on she could even spring into a run. But although she wished for nothing more, it was very likely that her running would give someone an apoplexy which not even Maester Pycelle would be able to take care of. And since Lyanna had no wish to cause harm, she did not take off at great speed.

"There she is." Lyanna involuntarily raised her head at the sound of Arthur Dayne's voice. He was one of Rhaegar's closes companions and very strange boy who insisted on ignoring the fact that she could not see. For that, Lyanna liked him tremendously. "Well, my lady, are you coming? Or should be wait until the sun sets?"

The somewhat impertinent question earned him a scolding from Rhaegar but he did make his point. Lyanna hadn't realised she had stopped walking. Thank the Seven for Arthur and his impertinence. A smile crossed her lips.

Before she could reach whatever destination those two had in mind, a hand clamped down upon hers. It was easier to hear steps approaching her when they were inside the palace. Outside, it was a tad more difficult. But Lyanna was much familiar with Rhaegar's touch. She did not pull back, nor was she particularly startled.

"Where are we going?" she asked, when he steered them right. It was definitely not the road towards the small folly where they sometimes went.

"You'll find out. Eventually." Oh, so now he had a taste for mystery. Lyanna shook her head and tugged at his arm to let his know she didn't appreciate the secrecy. "What is a surprise if you know all the details beforehand?" came the response to her incessant tugging. Lyanna stopped. He was determined and she was in no way desirous to ruin a surprise.

"The stables?" she questioned when the smell of hay and horse made its way to her nose. Lyanna inhaled, her face scrunching in confusion. "Is this where you've hidden my surprise?"

"Aye." Rhaegar's answer was promptly followed by him hefting her up in his arms. "Keep still for a moment, Lyanna."

Doing as he said, Lyanna exercised her patience until he set her down. The sound of neighing and nickering filled her ears. She clutched at Rhaegar's hand. It was somewhat frightening. Horses were large creatures. If she somehow landed herself in the path of one such beast, it could probably flatten her to the ground and steal away every drop of life she possessed. She did, however, trust that Rhaegar would not allow for something like that to happen.

Hinges creaked and Lyanna followed Rhaegar until they stopped quite abruptly. He manipulated her hand, raising it upwards until it touched something warm, wet and soft. Lyanna gave a startled little noise and made to pull backwards when she heard him chuckle.

"Don't be afraid," Rhaegar told her. "This is your gift."

Lyanna sniffed, a bit miffed at his behaviour, but she allowed him to guide her hand once more. "Tell me," she said, half-order, half-plea.

"It's a bay pony. Like you, she's small. Probably stubborn too." That earned him a glare, though Lyanna couldn't be sure she was doing it right, for all Rhaegar did was laugh. "But I reckon she's strong enough to ride."

"Ride? I do not know how to ride," Lyanna reminded him. Most children were taught from the time they could walk. In her case, riding had been ruled out as being too dangerous. "Besides, I'm not allowed to."

"Actually, I have managed to convince them otherwise." Rhaegar had been the only person to whom she'd said that she wished, so very dearly, that she could learn how to. Her emotions must have been mirroring on her face, the awe and the gratefulness, for Rhaegar ruffled her hair. "Did I not say I would give you whatever you wished for on your nameday?"

Smiling widely at him, Lyanna nodded her head in agreement. "Can I pet her again?"

"She's yours, Lyanna." His approval given, Lyanna stepped closer gently and held her hand out. Something warm pressed against her skin. She waited, feeling the movement. Then Lyanna held her fingers out, touching what she could only assume was the snout. Her fingers moved up and down in a soothing pattern.

"What's her colour?" she found herself asking. Surely her new friend would need a name.

"Black." That had not been entirely unexpected, Lyanna though as she considered the reply. "Except for a one spot."

"Where?" Curious, Lyanna turns her head towards where she thought Rhaegar was standing. "Will you show me?"

Her hand found itself was again in his clasp. Lyanna tried to memorise the path he led her fingers on. It seemed that the spot he was speaking on was on the pony's forehead, somewhere in the middle. "Right here," Rhaegar said. "It's a bright spot of white."

A light in the dark. Lyanna could not help the faint squeeze of her heart at that thought.


	5. Aerys I

The blade sliced through his flesh, a silent attack from the throne he sat. Aerys released a hiss of pain and held his hand up to inspect the fresh wound. It was the second time it had happened during Tywin's speech. Whether the throne found him as boring as Aerys did or whether something else had caused the mischief, the King could not tell. However, the blood dribbling down his skin gave him the perfect opportunity to call the meeting to a close.

"That should do for today, my Lord Hand," Aerys said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "Not one more words about bad crops, if you please."

"Your Majesty," Tywin bowed and sat down. His eyes, however, had taken on a glint Aerys knew very well. He would likely have to take drastic measures to escape the man.

"My lords," Aerys began, fully intending to send them all on their way, "I thank you for your contributions, valuable as always, but I must depart, for the day leaves yet many chores which must be accomplished." He stood up, carefully avoiding one of the lower spikes. He'd cut his leg on that one too many times not to remember it. Thankfully, he avoided another wound.

One of his most trusted advisers followed him like a shadow, exactly what Aerys had expected of him. It was just as well, for the needed to speak to Varys. If he could somehow let the realm run itself he would. Alas, the crowned head had a duty to the people. Even if that duty proved unrewarding and difficult at times.

The guards opened the door for him as he made his way through the keep. The Kingsguards on duty walked behind him, their armour clanking softly. Aerys was comfortable in the knowledge that there were at least some people loyal to him and willing to do right by their king. If nothing else, it went to show the power of vows. Looking over his shoulder, he motioned the Spider closer with a slight nod of his head.

"Your Majesty," the bald man addressed him. What a strange fellow he was, Aerys contemplated. He seemed so very open and willing to help. But a snake was still a snake at the end of the day, and King's Landing was full of those creatures hiding behind human faces. "I have brought that which you have asked of me.

"Very well, Varys. I knew you would not disappoint." The implied trust was not possible to miss. Aerys found that it was often better to pretend one trusted those around him. If anything it would make them feel more secure in their position and any misconduct became easier to detect. Power corrupted as it had ever done. The mechanism was rather easy to understand. And one day Lord Varys would slip too and meet his end. Aerys just had to bid his time. "It is a worthy gift, is it not?"

"Lady Lyanna will be sure to enjoy it." There was a note of doubt in the man's voice which Aerys could not help but detect. It was easy to imagine what he thought. Most people were thus mistaken about little Lyanna. Fool the lot of them. But Aerys would not correct them. That child did not need eyes to see.

"Come, that is not the subject I wish to speak of." Lyanna and her lack of sight was dismissed from the conversation just like that. "Tell me why it is that my Lord Hand had brought his children with him from the Rock." Lady Joanna had not come, of course. But that Aerys had expected.

"The good Lord Hand hopes that his daughter might tie a friendship to Lady Lyanna. It would be thus much easier for her to find an accommodating spot at court." Varys added a small sly smile to his words as if the implication were not obvious enough. "Your Majesty, forgive my presumptuousness, but the eldest Prince had yet to have acquired a suitable partner."

"That suitable partner will be of my choosing," Aerys cut him off. "I know what my son needs. And as of right now, 'tis no wife he must have." The line was secure either way.

"Your Majesty was barely older when the betrothal to Her Majesty the Queen was announced." How very fortunate to have someone to keep the count of all that. "It is perhaps prudent to at least consider the matter."

Those scheming lions, Aerys thought with a slight grin. He'd expected that, of course. Tywin had hinted more than once at a possible alliance between their houses. He thought he could fool the King into giving him even more power. "You may be right, Varys, you may be right. Perhaps I have simply not looked upon the matter from a proper angle."

He himself had found the best solution to that problem, it would seem, without even thinking too much upon the matter. Aerys left the Spider at the entrance of his room with orders to wait upon him. He walked to the table, opening the small chest which contained Lyanna's present. The jewellers had done a good job of it. Aerys inspected the gift with a critical eye, trying to find a single flaw in the pattern. Not a one showed itself to him. Indeed, he was certain Lyanna would appreciate it.

Closing the lid, Aerys took the small chest in his hand and made his way outside with it. Varys awaited him at the door. "Find out for me what sort of children my Lord Hand had spawned. Do not let them near Lyanna until you have made sure they are of a good sort." After all, who knew what Tywin would encourage his offspring to do to a poor blind child who was, for all intents and purposes, the very piece which held the dynasty up.

"I understand, Your Majesty, and I obey." And with that, the Spider returned to whatever dark corner he had been nestling in before his services were needed and he'd been summoned. Aerys took no more than a moment to witness the departure.

Locating Lyanna proved an easy matter. There were few places she took to as well as she did to the small, private garden belonging to the Queen. Rhaella had gone with the children there often enough for it to become a habit. The Queen's garden was a small section inside the main garden of the keep. Surrounded by red brick walls on which bittersweet nightshade had grown, wines spreading all about, creating an intricate pattern, the garden housed a few rare species of flowers brought from Essos. In the early days of their marriage, Rhaella herself had cared for the blooms. But when she grew heavy with child, the gardeners took over. Either way, the garden itself flourished and grew, its beauty enough to steal one's breath away.

Aerys pushed past the artfully crafted gates and entered the sanctuary. Rhaella was the first person he saw. A she was wont to do, his sister sat in a wooden chair, holding Aegon in her arms, rocking him. Aerys had the impression that she was also singing to him. For a brief moment he had the urge to caution her against that, but then realised that suckling babes did not truly care if the songs they heard were not the very best. Rhaella had never been a good singer though.

"What are you doing to my son?" he questioned, approaching her silently. Rhaella jumped from her seat, slightly shaken. "I thought we'd spoken about this."

"And I thought we agreed not to scare one another," she replied. They both smiled, an old memory brought to life. They used to compete against one another, trying to scare each other. But they'd been children then.

"Here, let me hold my son," Aerys demanded. He handed Rhaella the small chest and took Aegon from her arms. The child fussed, whining softly at being forced out of the protective hold of his mother's arms. Aegon flailed a bit, gurgling. "How is he on this fine day?"

"Undoubtedly excited about Lyanna's nameday," his wife replied. "The nursemaid swears up and down that if he continues to eat as he does, he'll grow taller than even you by the time she takes her leave."

"You were right about our Lyanna." Aerys gave her back the boy. "And how is she today?"

"Apparently very pleased with Rhaegar's gift. She tells me that he has even promised to teach her how to ride himself." Rhaella balanced the child carefully. "I do not know how to feel about that,"

"Nothing shall happen to her," he promised. "Rhaegar is a sensible sort. He'll be careful." After all, their firstborn knew how much Lyanna meant to them. "Trust him to take care of her, Rhaella." And he had yet to fail that particular task. "Now, let us give Lyanna her gift."

They stepped deeper into the garden in search for Lyanna and Daeron who were being carefully watched by Rhaegar and his ever present companion Arthur. The sight which greeted them was not at all unexpected. Children, after all would be children. Lyanna had somehow managed to take hold of a wooden stick which she jabbed unsuccessfully towards a mildly aggravated Arthur, as Rhaegar was trying to explain to Daeron the difference between Silver Stags and Golden Dragons. Daeron, bless his soul, seemed most interested in the part where one put the coin in their mouth and nibbled on it.

"You are supposed to listen and pinpoint my location, not throw that stick around," chided the Dornishman.

"I am attempting to do just that," Lyanna informed him crossly. To her luck, Arthur just then stepped towards her, perhaps intended on correcting her stance. The tip of her weapon pushed into his chest, a direct hit to the heart.

"I believe," Aerys cut into their play, drawing attention upon himself and Rhaella, "that the lady had won this round."

A chorus of greetings followed his words, even young Daeron managing to follow the proper protocol. "None of that," Aerys waved his hand dismissively, "I wish to have a word with you, Lady Lyanna, if I may."

"Your Majesty," the girl thrilled. She was wearing her finest blue dress. No doubt she had chosen it with the knowledge that it would please him. And it did. Lyanna crossed the distance between them carefully. Her measured steps brought her fairly close to where he stood with Rhaella.

The King held his hand out, touching the top of her head in a gentle manner. It was odd to think that had Shaena lived, they would have been of an age. Perhaps if the late Lady Stark had been brought to King's Landing. Ah, but that was wistful thinking. He had a daughter in Lyanna, for she'd grown before his eyes.

Guiding her even closer, Aerys supported his weight on one knee, allowing Lyanna to lean against the other leg. He lifted the lid of the chest and gave it to Lyanna. The girl's fingers brushed against the carved wood, feeling the floral patterns. Aerys smiled at her obvious enjoyment. "You should search inside it."

"I shall, Your Majesty," she returned. Her hand delved into the box. Aerys watched her as she pulled out her gift, placing the box on the ground. Her fingers were busy feeling. Small digits brushed over small white gold flowers, sliding lower until they reached the stone. "It is a necklace, Your Majesty," she offered, her voice holding awe and joy.

"Not just any necklace," Aerys told her. "This had been made for you. White gold flowers and moonstones."

"Moonstones?" she asked, her face taking on a confused aspect.

"Indeed, moonstones. They match the grey of your eyes and the blue of your dress." Lyanna's thumb stroked the smooth surface of the gem. "Moonstones are very special. Take care of this."

"You Majesty is very gracious. May I put it on?" Upon that question, Aerys himself was the one who put the necklace on her.

After that, the children were left to their play. Aerys and Rhaella returned to a quieter spot in the garden where Daeron was taken by one of Rhaella's ladies. Retreating in the shade, they sat down. "I have the vague feeling that you wish to speak to me on an important matter," Rhaella prodded gently.

"And how would you know that?" he questioned, a challenge in his voice.

"Because I know you," she answered, as it it was the most natural thing in the world. "So, what is it that worries you?"

"It does not worry me. But I find it to be an annoyance." Rhaella kept her silence. Aerys went on. "Are you aware that Tywin has brought his twins to the Capitol?"

"I've heard," she offered. "He hasn't brought them to me though."

"And if I have my way, he won't bring them anywhere near you and our children. He wants to charm his way into power." A small disgruntled sound left his lips. It was an abhorrent idea by all accounts. More so considering that there was a slight chance of success. "He could ruin everything."

"I suppose he could," Rhaella considered. "But I am hesitant to show such lack of belief in Rhaegar. Do you truly think he could be swayed so easily?"

"Not now. He is fond of Lyanna, true. But will it last even as he grows into a man?" His son acted in a brotherly fashion towards Lyanna, which was understandable. However, there would come a time when she would be his wife. Could he break away from the habit of being a brother to her? Would he?

"It is useless to worry over such matters. Rhaegar knows what path he must take, Aerys. He is very much aware of Lyanna's position in our household. But if it should put you at ease, let us talk to him." Her suggestion was met with a short nod. Rhaella signalled one of her ladies-in-waiting over told her to bring Rhaegar. "Better yet, let us announce that we intend to wed them at the proper time."

They themselves had been married fairly young. Rhaella had been barely two-and-ten upon her wedding day and he a boy of three-and-ten. It was not uncommon. "It would not be viewed kindly. But I suppose it cannot be avoided. Let us wait, however, until the tourney held for Aegon to announce it."

Among the many proposals sanctioned, it had come to the King's attention that Tywin Lannister wished to hold a tourney in honour of Aegon's birth. At the same tourney he would have to soften the blow somehow. "I do believe we shall have to accept Tywin's get into our own circle," he finally said.

"Not what he was hoping for, but certainly nothing to scoff at either," Rhaella murmured. She knew well enough how the game was played. "Do you think it will be enough to appease him?"

"Nay." His answer was an honest one. Tywin desired power. An ambitious man, he would forever try to gain more and more. "But mayhap the situation may work to our advantage. It will buy us time if nothing else." They fell into a short spell of silence.

Aerys looked up to see his eldest son approaching. Rhaegar sported a slightly worried mien. "Father, mother," he inclined respectfully, "you wished to see me. Is something the matter?"

"We wish to speak to you, son," Rhaella told him. Come closer now and sit with us a moment." Her request was met with her son's compliance. Rhaegar sat down. "Very well." Rhaella looked towards him, waiting for his intervention.

"Your mother and I have reached a conclusion upon a matter concerning you, son. We wish to make sure you are aware of this and act accordingly," Aerys began. He gave his son a moment to nod his head in understanding. "You are four-and-ten, no longer a mere child. Soon you shall be a man grown. As a prince of the realm, there are certain duties you must take on."

His pause gave Rhaegar an opportunity to speak. "What duties are you speaking of, father?"

"Simply that it is expected of you to wed and further out line." A shadow passed over the boy's face at that. Aerys looked into his eyes. "We have already chosen someone of rank and virtue, an appropriate candidate."

"We have chosen Lyanna," Rhaella cut in. "You are aware, I trust, of our reasoning. It is important that you give your word upon this matter, Rhaegar."

"I give you my word." His declaration was met with twin nods of approval. "I do, however, have a request."

"What request?" Aerys found himself asking suspiciously.

"I wish to be sent away to squire. Father, it is time I learned to wield a weapon properly." That was certainly a surprise. Aerys stared at his son. Rhaegar was no warrior. In all his years, he'd been more comfortable with books than with weapons.

"That is easily arranged. But why this odd request?" came the answer. "Have you found a new interest in swords and lances?"

"I do not wish to have it said that I disgrace my house's name." A well thought-out reply if Aerys had ever heard one. Clearly his son had been thinking upon the matter for some time.

"It is a sound notion," he offered. "I suppose you will wish to leave as soon as possible." Rhaegar nodded. "Very well. We shall arrange it." It could do no harm, after all. There came a time in every man's life when choices had to be made. "Go now, before Lyanna fells that friend of yours." The note of wryness shone through the words.

"Do you think she might?" Rhaella teased, referring to Lyanna.

"I think that if we do not pay careful attention, between Rhaegar, our other sons and Arthur, the girl will take it into her head to learn the art of war too." The inherent danger in that was very clear.

The Seven knew, Lyanna was not powerless without her sight. In fact, one of his many fears was that the girl would develop an unhealthy sense of courage – otherwise known as folly – to compensate for what she perceived as a weakness. Still, it was all child's play.

"I am certain it is not so bad," soothed Rhaella. Her lips curved in an amused smile. "And to think you did not wish to have her in the beginning."

"I have changed my mind," he murmured.


	6. Rhaegar II

Dorne was a hot, sunny place, dry as a bone and twice as unforgiving as King's Landing. Sand was everywhere. It crawled upon everyone and everything, tormenting every living being. Someday soon, Rhaegar was sure he would choke on it and die. Alas that was his fate. Rhaegar resisted the very compelling urge to brush the sand off. It would only find a way to get there again. He sighed for the hundredth time and wondered how much longer he would have to endure it.

"Is there something amiss?" the feminine voice of his companion interrupted his thoughts, slim, long fingers curling around his hand. "Rhaegar. You are far away again."

"Nay, nothing's amiss," he replied, gently prying his hand away. It was rather disconcerting. "I am fine, Elia. Just thinking of home."

And of Lyanna. She hadn't written in quite some time and that worried him. He still carried the memory of their last meeting with him. She had pleaded with him not to leave her, to find someone to train him in King's landing. But Rhaegar knew that if he stayed he would accomplish nothing. It was best to find himself another place, where he could concentrate of training.

So it had been that his father chose Dorne for him. Aerys had been sure to let Rhaegar know what he thought of the Dornish, and he had cautioned his son to take care of himself in the den of snakes. The King seemed sure that the ruling Princess of Dorne had a sinister plan in mind when she offered to foster the Prince.

For his own part, Rhaegar had seen easily enough through that. The plan was no more and no less than any other of noble houses. And Elia Martell was the main agent of it. It was rather a pity if he stopped to think about it. When no intentions were declared, no replies could be given. A couple of years ago, when he'd first arrived in Sunspear he would not have thought himself in any great danger. But it seemed he should have thought better of it.

"I should be very sad to leave my home behind," she murmured. "But I would do it if the need ever rose for such action." She gave him a hopeful look.

"I would hate for you to be sad," Rhaegar offered. It was growing rather irritating, to be truthful.

If at four-and-ten he'd had more patience with the schemes, being curious, at six-and-ten he found them annoying. But that was the way of the world. When he first met Elia, she had been recuperating from a bout of illness. There had been something almost fragile about her. Not the sort of fragile Lyanna occasionally exhibited, but a desperate kind. Something chilling and not at all pleasant. Rhaegar could not tell from where those uncharitable thoughts had come, but he could not deny them either.

Then she had grown better with the passing of days. Three years his senior, Elia was a woman grown, graceful and soft spoken, charming in her own quiet way. But even at the peak of her health, she failed to be engaging. It was certainly no fault of hers, for she tried. But the very fact that she had to warned Rhaegar away.

Dorne was very different from his own home. The people were different, the atmosphere, everything. If King's Landing was familiarity with its games of power and the presence of loved ones, Dorne offered sensuality, knowledge and loneliness of the most crushing kind. Even surrounded by people, Elia, her brothers, the Dornish court, Rhaegar was left feeling bereft. They lacked something genuine, something that would make him believe in their intentions as not being simple extensions of their hunger for power. There was no peace to be found in Dorne. The mechanism was familiar to him, but not the method.

Of late, subtle hints had lost some of their delicacy. Perhaps they supposed that he would lose himself to the Dornish Princess' charms. Rhaegar looked at Elia, considering her silently as they walked through the gardens. When he had arrived she was taller than him, but after two years he had caught up to her and even outgrew her. Elia was not a short woman. She held herself with obvious pride, her stance elegant and alluring. Soft raven locks tumbled down past her shoulders, framing a delicate heart-shaped face. Her eyes were twin pools of darkness, gaps without end, that captured and held arrested the interest of many a lordling. What stood out most perhaps was the olive skin, so very uncommon in any of the other kingdoms.

There was no denying that Elia Martell was beautiful. She was also sweet when it suited her. Yet he'd seen her with her brother. Perhaps it was the closeness between siblings and the fact that she had to wear no mask in the presence of Oberyn Martell, but those two shared a streak of cruelty that could be witnessed best in the company of less than fortunate souls who happened to have earned themselves the scrutiny of the younger Martell.

"Mother says I might visit King's Landing one of these days," Elia began speaking again. Or was she continuing. Rhaegar had not been paying attention. "She thinks I could perhaps serve with the Queen." Elia's own mother had been at one point one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting.

"And you think you should like that? To do someone's bidding?" That was exactly what he needed, Elia Martell in King's Landing.

Her thin lips twisted in something like dismay for a moment. "I am certain I would love serving the Queen. I have always wanted to see the world though. Perhaps I might convince my mother to send me on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Which kingdom are you most interested in?" If he drew her attention away from her task, he might find an opportunity to evade the more obvious of those suggestions.

"I suppose I would have to say the Reach. I've heard such wonderful things of the rose garden at Hightower. I would like to see it sometimes." Roses, Rhaegar thought absently. Roses of the colour blue. Lyanna's roses, growing in the land of her birth. "And you? Which kingdom would you like to visit someday?"

* * *

><p>Doran Martell's Norvosi wife happened upon him as he was sitting under a tree, parchment and quill in hand, thinking on the words he wished to send home. The woman stopped and gave him a long look. Her red-rimmed eyes told him that yet again there had been some disagreement between her and her husband.<p>

When Doran had returned home with Mellario of Norvos, the two of them had been floating in a perpetual cloud of happiness. The bliss had lasted for half a year before it crumbled like a wall of paper, melting before their very eyes. It was rather sad to think that two people who loved one another so passionately could lose that to mere spats on things of no value.

"Your Grace," she intoned softly, "forgive me for disturbing." A flush coloured her tanned skin.

"There is no need for apologies, my lady." With that assurance she seemed to take some heart. In the next moment the woman broke from the path and sat down. Rhaegar returned his attention to the blank paper in his hands. Something was not quite alright. He could feel it in his bones.

"You are writing to your family?" The questioned flowed past him, for a brief moment failing to capture his attention. But then Rhaegar snapped out of his reverie and turned his head towards Mellario.

"So I am." He held the quill up. "It had been quite some time since I haven't heard a word from them."

A confused look graced the woman's face. Then her eyes widened as if realisation had dawned upon her. Rhaegar's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was very seldom the reason people had revelations and he would much like for that to remain so. Mellario drew herself to her feet, uncertainty colouring her stance. It seemed that a battle had commenced within her. Rhaegar too left his comfortable position with just a note of authority, to prevent any memory loss over the fact that while he was a ward of House Martell, he was still a Prince of the realm.

It paid to exert caution in such circumstances. His letter was abandoned on the ground, ink spilling out of the accidentally knocked over inkwell. It trickled onto the red sand, darkening its colour. "My lady," he began in a calm manner, "actions have repercussions. Think very well on that which you wish to do."

The woman cradled her one of her arms to her chest. "Your Grace, I love my husband, I truly do." That confirmed the theory that the Martells had been planning something. Rhaegar continued to stare at Mellario. "I could never willingly place him in harm's way."

Like him, Mellario was an outsider. It did not matter that she was Doran's wife, nor that he loved her. The law of the land was older and far dearer. On the one hand, it was understandable. A man could be taken out of his land, but his land could never truly be taken out of him. The roots were thick and deeply embedded in the soil. So it was with Mellario and her husband. Their love was starting to strain under the demands of the land's law and what it required through the mouth of the ruling Princess.

A wise woman though she was, the ruling Princess did not particularly take to her good-daughter as well as it had initially been hoped. She had been firmly opposed to the marriage and very disappointed at the fact that it had yet to produce any children.

"I am not asking that you do," Rhaegar clarified. "I give you my word that what you speak to me now, shall never make it past my own ears. But if you choose not to, I shall see to it that swift punishment follows. Make no mistake about that, my lady."

"There have been letters," she finally said, her whole frame trembling. Rhaegar took a step towards her. He'd learned his lessons very well. Enemies were to be intimidated, not petted and cosseted. "A few."

"What did those letters say?" he prompted once she fell silent. "Come now, my lady, if you truly wish what is best for your husband and his family."

"They bore the Queen's seal, Your Grace. But I do not know what they said. I swear I do not." Like anyone with at least two healthy thoughts to rub together, she knew very well that disobedience could earn her much worse than her spouse's ire. "Please, Your Grace."

"I believe you." She looked him in the eyes, hopeful and somewhat uncertain. "I think you would not lie to me on such a matter, my lady. But if what you say is true, then I must know what those letters say. If you would be so kind as to bring me the next letter, I shall consider this matter as if it never were." He gave her a soft, reassuring smile. "It is up to you, Lady Mellario, if you care enough for your husband."

She paled and shivered, drawing in a shuddering breath. "All will be forgiven if I do thus?" Her hand come together, fingers twining.

"Aye." Forgiven but never forgotten. Rhaegar took great care in presenting the woman with a calm façade. There was no reason to give her anything which might make her doubt him. "More than forgiven. You shall have my gratitude."

Lady Mellario gave a swift nod before excusing herself. Rhaegar's attention returned to the quill and parchment. If they had been stopping the Queen's letters, it was very likely that his own letters had not been getting through. But what could be the purpose of such a scheme? Rhaegar sighed. If he unmasked the plot at an inopportune time, without an ounce of evidence, House Martell will claim foul play. As it was, there still remained a high chance of failure. Rhaegar swore under his breath.

He rightened the inkwell, dipped the sharp end on the quill in what ink still lingered at the bottom of it and wrote to his mother, much like he had so many other times, about wishing to have word from her on what went on in King's Landing.

"This had better work," he murmured to himself, quill scratching on paper. If not, other measures would have to be taken.

* * *

><p>Jonothor Darry entered the chamber, a shrouded figure following him inside. Rhaegar stood up from the small table, eyes zoning in on the woman who removed the hood of her cloak. "Come, my lady, I have been waiting for you. Ser Jonothor, you may go."<p>

His guard nodded sharply. He did not wait even a heartbeat longer to do as he was told. Lady Mellario pulled a piece of paper that she had hidden from sight. "I could not the letter itself." She offered an appropriate apology. "Her Grace the Princess became suspicious when I lingered too close to it."

"Suspicious?" That could present a problem. Rhaegar did not allow himself to be disheartened however. "I suppose it could not be avoided, my lady. What have you for me?"

Lady Maellario held out the paper. "I had not thought the situation to be so dire, Your Grace." Her warning served to pull at his chain. Rhaegar took the paper without another word. "Shall I leave, Your Grace?"

"That would be best, my lady." The fewer knew, the better, no matter the outcome. "Before though, I have a question for you. How much does House Martell desire an alliance with the Throne?"

"Enough to plot and scheme towards that goal," Mellario answered. "I believe I have kept my word, Your Grace." She pulled the hood of her cloak back on. "I shall leave with your permission."

"You do so, my lady. Have a care not to be spotted." He had put her in quite a position, Rhaegar considered. The woman would be rather uneasy in the company of her husband if ever he found out that she had aided him. Yet that, the Prince reminded himself firmly, was not his problem. She had chosen her path and if she was as smart as she appeared, she would fall on her feet.

Looking down at the parchment in his hand, Rhaegar stepped closer to the burning fire and knelt before it. He spread out the paper and his eves devoured the words. It rather sounded like a reply to his own ears. An unfavourable answer, to be exact.

_'If you are not able to return, for the sake of Lyanna, then at least do this kindness to your own mother and write to her. She is ailing, my son, and has been asking for nothing but a few words from you. It is cruel to refuse her this too.'_

Lyanna was ill. Rhaegar jumped to his feet, brow furrowing. He'd been perfectly right to be suspicious. Blindness hadn't stopped Lyanna from writing to him as soon as she had learned her letters. Though he had to admit her messaged had grown fewer and far between since his nameday had passed. It was all clear. Her ailment was surely very severe to stop her. And the Martells had thought to keep that from him. 

He could do nothing about the matter at present. But Rhaegar vowed that he would take action. Even if he had to wait a decade more to do so, Rhaegar would bid his time and strike when the opportunity presented itself. As he had told Lady Mellario, actions had consequences.

That aside, it seemed that the time had come for him to return to King's Landing.

Stalking towards the door, Rhaegar opened it and called his guard in. Jonothor's lank form entered through the doorway, his ever alert eyes searching for threats. "Your Grace, is ought amiss?"

"There is something amiss, Ser Jonothor. It seems we have been played for fools." Rhaegar proceeded to explain the situation to his man. "I shall assume that the messages sent to you too have been conveniently rewritten so as to suit our hosts' purposes."

"I had no word that Lady Lyanna was ill," Jonothor confirmed. "This situation need immediate addressing, Your Grace. Shall I find horses?"

"The fastest ones, my good Ser. We have to make haste, before they can even consider stopping us." But for that he could not leave dressed in the grab of a nobleman. "Ser Jonothor, you might wish to change into something less attention grabbing."

"Aye, Your Grace." If ever his companion thought his plans less than brilliant, he never uttered that. Another guard might have protested at that. But apparently, Ser Jonothor was bright enough to realise the gist of the plan. "I shall be waiting at the stables." With that the man left.

Rhaegar searched his own chest for the plainest articles of clothing that were in his possession. He dressed in haste and then prepared the bed to make it look as if someone was slumbering underneath the covers. A lock of hair slipped over his shoulder as he leaned forward and it struck him that silver hair was easily recognisable.

Pulling out his hunting knife, Rhaegar pulled on said lock and cut straight through it. The Valyrian steel of the blade ripped through the strands with nary a sound. The rest of his hair followed the same path as that first lock, gathering in a pile on the ground. He found himself a cap to hide the rest under. Satisfied that he could not feel the locks covering his neck any longer, Rhaegar placed the mess within the chest and locked it away.

With great care he walked the dimly lit halls, making his way down winding stairs. He had to reach the stables in good time, or nothing would come out of his attempt. Thankfully, security was lax – or at least enough to permit him to make for the stables without even so much as a glance his way.

As expected, Jonothor had already found appropriate horses. He had also donned darker clothing to better suit their purposes. Rhaegar gave him a light nod. "We should make for the western gates, Your Grace. The man that guards them will be dead drunk by this time."

Far being from Rhaegar to contradict a man who knew better than him the habits of palace guards, the Prince settled for following behind the other man. As it turned out Jonothor Darry was right. The guard was drunk enough to let them pass without even asking for names or even remarking upon the strangeness of their departure.

They might have as well been dressed as befitted them, Rhaegar thought, not without a hint of amusement.


	7. Lyanna II

Lyanna shivered and whimpered as a damp cloth was placed on her forehead. A drop of ice-cold water trickled down her skin and into a mess of tangled hair. Having seldom been sick and ordered to bed rest, she could not find it anything but strange and bothersome.

Her decline had begun shortly after the birth of the Queen's fourth son, Jaehaerys. Unlike his other brothers, little Jaehaerys was born perfectly healthy. The King had still insisted that Lyanna hold the boy though. Out of the all the children she'd held, Jaehaerys had cried the loudest, fussing and tossing in her grasp. Lyanna had been so very happy. She had even written to Rhaegar herself to share with him the joyous news.

One of the hardest endeavours for her was writing. It had taken her Septa quite some time to teach her how to write the letters. It had been ardours and Lyanna had lost her temper more than once when faced with the challenge, but in the end she had managed. And then she'd written to Rhaegar, because naturally he was the one person she wished to send word to. She had thought that he would be so proud, as he usually was when she accomplished something. Instead it was to hi own mother that he replied and barely even mentioned her at all. Disappointing as that had been, Lyanna had continued to hold out hope.

And then she began to feel sick. The illness had crept upon her like a thief in the night. It began with mild indispositions, a slight headache and no desire for any activity. The blame had fallen on fatigue. Lyanna had not improved though even with many an hour of sleep. In fact, her condition grew worse as the time passed. The Maesters did not know what to do. A strange fever had kicked in, fierce and merciless.

"It is no good, Your Majesty," she heard the high-pitched voice of old Maester Pycelle. "The child is not responding. I maintain that it would be best to bleed her. It will restore the proper balance."

"But she is so small," Rhaella spoke softly. "There is such a little amount of blood to take from. I couldn't possibly. Find another way, Maester."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, all other options are void." For the first time she heard the man speak in a decisive manner. Lyanna supposed that were she in good health she would find it amusing, his conviction. She had always thought the man rather strange. Pycelle failed to make her feel at ease and more than once she had hidden from him, preferring to wait whatever ailed her out. Yet it was no longer possible. "We must do this for her. Make haste, Your Majesty, else it will be too late and she will slip through our fingers."

"You are certain there is no other way?" the woman insisted. The reply must have been in the affirmative, for in the end, Lyanna could but hear a long sigh. "Very well then, do as you think best. But know that if you fail and something bad happens to her you will answer to your King."

How she wanted to smile at those word. When she had first showed signs on illness, the King had pestered every Maester with questions and demands. Her continued decline had only made him irritable, frustrated with what he perceived as incompetence on the part of his maesters. In fact, during his last visit, Lyanna had heard him get into an argument with Pycelle. Her heart was warmed by the fact that he cared so much for her.

"Bring me the leeches," Pycelle uttered a few moment later. Lyanna heard people moving about. She tensed when a stranger's hand come down, bearing upon her wrists. The grip of her limb tightened. Lyanna wanted to draw her hand back but she couldn't. A murmur of protest escaped her lips.

"My lady, please be still," a kind voice said. It was probably one of the other maesters. "It shall be easier if you do not move about so much. Would you like some water?"

Lyanna nodded her head, or at least she thought she did. Immediately after something wet pressed to her mouth. She parted her lips and a thick liquid slid in past her lips and teeth. Sweetness filled her mouth. Lyanna recognised the taste of honey. She had been fed with honeyed water before. It was supposed to help her regain her strength and keep her stomach filled in lieu of other foods she could not eat.

"Let me do that," the Queen requested. The bed dipped slightly underneath the added weight. Lyanna felt the slight pressure on her lips fade. She whined, still feeling very much in need of nourishment. The pressure returned and her mouth was filled once more. "Here, my darling, Have some more."

Distracted by the taste of food as she'd been, Lyanna failed to notice the approach of another person. Only when something cool and wet pressed against different points on her arm did she flinch. It was uncomfortable. Lyanna wanted to shake off whatever had crawled on her skin and sunk tiny teeth in her. It was disconcerting.

"What is happening to her?" Rhaella questioned, clearly unhappy. Lyanna wanted to reach out to her. "Maester, what is going on." A hand pressed gently against her shoulder. "Keep still, Lyanna. You must keep still."

"She is likely frightened," came the reply. "No need for that, child. You are perfectly safe. Be at ease." Someone pushed the fallen stands of hair out of her face, smoothing it back. "There now. Like that, my lady. It shall be over soon." There was some comfort to be gleaned from that, she supposed.

"My poor darling. Have just a little patience. The Seven will see you through." Loving lips slid against her forehead. "There, there."

The leeches continued their suckling, no doubt growing fat on her blood. Rhaegar had told her that they could bleed a man dry if left unattended. She shivered at the thought, but did not try to pry them off. If she could just breathe normally. Lyanna prayed in her own mind that the gods would not take her away so soon. Not when she still wanted to stay.

* * *

><p>"She is opening her eyes," the familiar voice of Aerys Targaryen sounded out. "Lyanna, can you hear me? Speak to us." Warm fingers touched her hand curling around it. "Come, Lyanna. Speak."<p>

"Might be she's still tired," Daeron offered, his thon voice ringing out somewhere near Lyanna. The five year old was energetic and always willing to play. Given that Lyanna was the person he most often wished to play with, he had been terribly upset by her collapse.

"Nay, Nay, I am awake," the girl forced herself to speak. Her throat was dry. "May I have some water?" She was unsure of who had come to her bedside. The leeches treatment had worked as well as it had been expected, she supposed. Of course, she could not be entirely sure as she'd been asleep for the most part, only waking from time to time to strange noises.

Someone held a cup to her lips. "Not too much now," the King cautioned. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I've ever been, Your Majesty. Is that you, Daeron?" Lyanna held her hands out. As expected the little Prince caught her fingers with his own and squeezed. The poor thing, he didn't even know his grip was too tight. Lyanna yelped, instinctively drawing back.

"Not so hard, Daeron. You'll hurt the girl," chided his father. Not unlike his older brother, Daeron was usually very careful around Lyanna. He seemed to think that it was his duty to be her eyes and he often managed to help her out in some small way. Yet unlike Rhaegar, Daeron was a child. He wanted to play. And he wanted Lyanna to play with him. In those moments sometimes forgot about her deficiency. Once he nearly decapitated her. That had earned them both a Septa to dog their steps and make sure their games were safe.

"I won't, father. I promise," the boy protested. Lyanna found herself crushed in a hug. "I would never hurt Lyanna. In fact, when brother returns, I'll show him how well I took acre of her."

Even though, strictly speaking, it had been Arthur Dayne who took care of her. Lyanna giggled. "Rhaegar will be pleased, I am certain," she offered. Lyanna was unsure if Rhaegar had requested it of his friend, or whether Arthur did it on his own, but whatever the case, Arthur Dayne had saved her skin more than once. And he had even continued Rhaegar's lessons in horse riding.

To her great surprise, Lyanna found that sitting a horse was rather comfortable and the beasts were awfully intelligent. Arthur said that a horse properly trained could mean that even without her sight she could enjoy riding. And she did. Very much so.

"Well, in any case, leave her be. I am sure Lyanna will wish to make herself presentable," the King began speaking. "It is time for you to leave these rooms and take in some sun. You are too pale."

Such were the effects of being ill, Lyanna considered. She drew herself up. "That would be lovely. I certainly miss the sunshine on my face."

The King and little Daeron left, allowing her some privacy.

One of her ladies came in shortly after. Lyanna heard sloshing water and whooshing cloth. With care and gentleness, she was helped into the tub. Lyanna sighed as the warm water hit her skin. It felt so pleasant. Her hair was pulled and twisted, washed clean of all sweat and grime. Her skin was scrubbed red as well. But the pain was worth it, she thought with pleasure as she left the filth of the sickbed behind. Wrapped in sheets and patted dry, Lyanna was treated to some tasty nourishment.

Her hair was plaited in a thick braid. It would not help with the drying, but it would make it so that the water did not splash everywhere. Lyanna hummed softly to herself as that went on. She pulled on her small clothes and then donned a thick woollen dress. It would ward off the chill.

"Very pretty, my lady," came the exclamation. "Is there anything else you wish for?"

"Only the necklace His Majesty gave me," Lyanna requested. The necklace was brought out and fastened around her neck. It was the one piece of jewellery she wore on her person at all times when appropriate. "That would be all. Let us go."

Surprisingly, not even the many stairs she had to climb down made her fatigue. Lyanna supposed that to be because she was so well rested, or mayhap her body had simply gathered enough energy for it. Whatever the explanation, Lyanna was happy to be able to go outside again. "Not so fast, my lady. You may fall over," one of her women cautioned. "The King will have our heads." The words were only half-jokingly uttered.

"He shan't, for I do not intend to fall," Lyanna responded. She did not however slow down. As it turned out, she did not fall either. Once outside, she drew air into her lungs greedily. It felt so good. "I have missed this."

"And we have missed you," came the bored, but nonetheless kind voice of Arthur Dayne. Still, startled, Lyanna jumped at the words. He laughed, not meanly, and spoke again. "That frightening, am I?"

Lyanna snorted in reply. "I am not frightened. Need I remind you I was born in the North? You couldn't frighten me if you tried."

"Still, do not make an attempt," came the wise suggestion of a random person.

"If you say so, my lady," Arthur said. Lyanna could not determine if she was speaking to her or to another person. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better." Lyanna held one of her hands out. "It was terribly lonely though. I'm glad to be up and about."

"So is your filly. She has missed you very much. Do you know, she even tried to leave her stall?" A light chuckle followed that statement.

"Then let us not waste anymore time. Take me to her." The demand was met with something that sounded like a mock complaint. Lyanna merely waited.

"Come then, my lady. Let us be on our way," Arthur added.

* * *

><p>Late in the night commotion sounded out in the hallways. Lyanna groaned softly and tossed between the sheets. She pulled her blanket around her, using it as an armour. It did not exactly muffle the annoying sounds, but perhaps if she could ignore them for long enough, she might be able to fall back into a deep slumber.<p>

Lyanna closed her eyes, though she supposed it hardly mattered as no images ever formed before them. She sighed. Sleep refused to come. It might be because she had slept so much during her illness . Or perhaps the gods simply thought it amusing to keep her up at night when she could be sleeping and not thinking about the various worries of the day.

In a particular spot which garnered attention was the fact that Rhaegar had not yet written. Not even as much as a line. That was indeed a strange occurrence. So strange that the Queen had commented upon it and prevail upon her husband to send another Kingsguard to Dorne. Perhaps that would solve whatever problem had appeared.

For her own part, Lyanna was a tad disappointed with the whole handling of the matter. Since leaving King's Landing for Sunspear, something had changed with the caring person Rhaegar used to be. His letters had grown few and far between. He wrote only to the Queen and he refused to come back. Even when it was insisted upon by his mother. Lyanna had wondered why the King did not take attitude, but she knew better than to ask.

Something crashed outside. Lyanna sat up, her head swivelling in the direction of the door. Her lady-in-waiting slept on. Lyanna could still hear her light snoring. Once more, sounds come from outside. It almost seemed that people were running up and down the hall. Voices followed shortly after.

The Red Keep was usually very much silent during the night. It was a wonder that so many people could be up at the same time to produce such noise. Lyanna slid out of bed and lowered herself to the ground, feeling around for her doeskin slippers. If only she could find them. She feared they been knocked under the bed. Her hand brushed against the cool surface of the floor. Lyanna took hold of something and lifted it up. It was one of the slippers. The other she found close next to it.

Climbing back into bed, she shook the other woman's shoulder. "Wake up. You have to wake up." A murmur of protest followed her statement, but Lyanna knew her mission had been accomplished. "There is something going on," she did not hesitate in explaining. "I want you to find out what."

"Aye, my lady," came the immediate reply. Lyanna waited as the door opened and closed. She then put her shoes on and pulled a fur on her shoulder to keep warm. Just because she was slightly better, it did not mean that whatever illness had bothered her could not return. And then she waited patiently.

A knock on the door startled her out of the tranquillity she had fallen in. Lyanna looked up sharply. "Enter," she called out, hoping her voice wasn't shaking. The door opened with a creak and footsteps followed, coming closer. Strangely enough though, no words greeted her. Lyanna's whole body froze as as a strangely familiar aura was made known to her senses. "Who are you?" she found herself asking.

The person, whoever they were, stopped advancing towards her. Lyanna waited with baited breath for some words, a scent, anything which could tell her who was in her bedchamber. Obviously it could not be just anyone.

"It's only been a couple of years and you have already forgotten me. How disappointing." And then it all made sense. Lyanna jumped off the bed with a delighted sound and rushed forward. She assumed that was where the voice came from. She crashed into her visitor.

"I thought you were never coming back," she said, the word muffled into cloth. Lyanna felt herself being picked up and held in strong arms. "I've missed you."

"Have you?" Rhaegar teased. "Have you truly now?" He chuckled lightly. Yet Lyanna could hear that it was not amusement. "They said you were ill."

"I was," she admitted. "But I am much better now." She reached for what she remembered as soft locks of hair only for her fingers to meet air. Lyanna frowned and tried again. Her fingertips climbed higher, trailing against flesh before meeting short curls. "What happened?"

"Never you mind that. It is a story best left for the light of day." They were moving towards the bed. Lyanna found herself reliving moments of her early childhood as Rhaegar balanced her on one knee. "Suffice to say that I owe you an apology, my lady?"

"An apology? Whatever for?" Lyanna questioned. She was only glad that he'd returned. Whatever other frustrations she might have had vanished the moment she heard his voice. "I need no such words, Your Grace."

"Oh, but I insist." Rhaegar's hold tightened a little around her. "I should have known that I was supposed to return much earlier. You cannot imagine what I felt when I found out you were sick."

"Am I to understand that it would have made you sad had I been absent upon your return," Lyanna teased lightly. The thought of dying was less scary in the face of her health holding out. "I daresay, Your Grace, that I was scared as well."

"You are very important to me, Lyanna," he sighed. "One day you will understand. But until then, promise me that you will take care of yourself." The request had been a sincere one. Lyanna was but a smidge mesmerised by the response.

"I promise," she spoke quite without thinking. What could she do to take better care of herself, she wondered a moment later. "May I ask a question?"

"Anything," Rhaegar answered. "You can always ask me anything."

"What is it that makes me so very important, Your Grace, and why I not understand it now?" It had sounded rather innocent in her own mind and pertinent too. So Lyanna merely scrunched her nose when Rhaegar laughed lightly.

"Can you keep a secret?" His question prompted as nod from her. "Very well then. But remember, you must tell this to no one." Again, Lyanna nodded. "One day, we are going to fulfil a prophecy."


	8. Rhaella II

Rage painted her brother's face as their son stood before them. Rhaella instinctively took a step back, her fingers tightening their hold around Rhaegar's arm. "These are grave accusations you bring. Do you have proof?" she questioned.

It was not that she did not believe his word. Rhaella had absolute trust in Rhaegar. He would not speak an untruth out of spite. Yet even so, House Martell was old ands powerful, with a great deal of influence. One could not simply accuse them of misdeeds and expect to solicit a heavy punishment based on mere words. It was simply not done.

"This is not a matter of proof," Aerys growled out. "This is impertinence of the highest order. And even if proof was brought forth, a war with Dorne is not something we desire." He held one hand up to stop Rhaegar from talking when the boy opened his mouth. "We are not prepared for such."

Looking at him with slight confusion, Rhaella sat down in one of the chairs. "But surely we would be able to defeat Dorne if it came to combat."

"Dragons couldn't conquer Dorne," Aerys said. "We do not know the effective of their military. But even more, we do not know what allies they have. Rhaella, a war is not as easy to plan as those books of yours would make it sound."

"But it is less difficult than the Dornish would have us believe. Father, I say we keep them under observation for the time being. Fearful as they are now, it is to be expected that they will not move against us so soon." Or perhaps not at all, Rhaella thought, a hint of optimism colouring the notion.

Aerys sighed deeply. "I do not think they will push further with such insolence as before. But I cannot allow their deeds to go unpunished. Alas, we must be subtle about it."

"A reprimand that will not seem like a reprimand," Rhaegar spoke out loud. Rhaella could almost see the cogs turning in his head. She smiled. Rhaegar could be counted on to search for viable solutions when it fitted him. "Perhaps we should give them what they desire."

"But, Rhaegar," Rhaella cut in, "what they desire is a Prince of the royal line."

"And there are four of us, mother, out of which only one is truly spoken for." Her son knelt before her. "A betrothal does not necessarily result in a marriage. This is truly the best way, mother. It leaves us enough time and ample opportunity to act."

The King adopted a thoughtful mien. "That is possible. After all, who is to say what will happen until Daeron comes of age." He sat down too. Rhaella stared at both of them, speechless, incapable of so much as making a sound.

They were asking her to sacrifice one of her sons in what looked like a more or less med scheme. Her Daeron was much too young to enter the game. "I will not endanger our children, Aerys," she spoke a moment later. "They are not ready for this."

"We need not even betroth them in truth. Rhaella, there is less danger in this than in a war." He came to stand beside her. "Besides, I believe we might just be able to rid ourselves of two thorns in our side with one simple move.

"What do you mean?" she asked, not making sense of his talk. There were times when Aerys thoughts her better informed than she actually was. Rhaella was often obligated to remind him that she could not guess what he referred to if he was not clear.

"Only that e should allow nature to run its course," Rhaegar explained after moment of tense silence. "Princess Elia is a woman grown. She may choose her own path."

And what woman in her right mind would wish to wed a child, knowing that she would be past her prime by the time her spouse was old enough to bed? Rhaella nodded her head. "And the other thorn in our side?" she asked, her voice almost gentle.

"Lannisters. Let Lord Tywin and the Dorinish Princess dispute their claim to Daeron. In the end, they will tear each other apart without us having to lift one finger." Fully understanding that line of thinking, Rhaella stood to her feet in a swift motion.

"But Lord Tywin is still hoping that his daughter might catch Rhaegar's eye." That would not happen, of course. But Rhaella had understood from the deceased Joanna Lannister's many letters that Tywin was determined even as she was opposed to it. He was bound to be disappointed. "We cannot refuse setting the girl up as Lyanna's companion any longer, now that she is ell again. It would only give birth to ugly rumours."

"Cersei Lannister as Lyanna's companion?" their son questioned. He was clearly not in agreement. "I thought she was to be kept away from Lyanna."

"So we would have wished," Aerys offered. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, shoulders tensing. "But Lyanna needs a companion and Cersei has been volunteered. We have no valid reason to refuse." In truth, they had been stalling for nearly a full year. "At least we will be able to keep an eye on her."

But they were putting Lyanna at risk with the move. Rhaella turned to look at her son. Rhaegar was frowning. "She will be well looked after. A guard will be with her always. Nothing shall happen. Schemes are one thing, direct attack are quite another. Lyanna is safe here," Aerys assured his son.

Kingsguards were loyal to the King, but a man may yet be swayed. Rhaella glanced towards Aerys. He was so certain that no ill fate would befall Lyanna. "Perhaps if Arthur Dayne would agree to keep watch over her," the Queen suggested. "That boy is her shadow as it is. And he is trustworthy."

"That he is," Aerys agreed. "Mayhap that would be just as well. Arthur Dayne, you say. Then we shall speak to him as soon as possible. I cannot suffer the thought of Lyanna in danger."

Neither of them could. Rhaella touched her flat stomach gently. She owed so much to that child. Lyanna Stark was irreplaceable in so many ways, not only as a saviour, but as a daughter.

* * *

><p>There was something about motherless children that tugged at her very heart, Rhaella considered as she watched Cersei Lannister follow her father inside the King's solar. Joanna Lannister, Cersei's mother, had been at one point Rhaella's own lady-in-waiting. Rhaella remembered Joanna well, and it was for more than one reason.<p>

Joanna Lannister had been a beautiful woman. Her daughter certainly took after her in that, however, there was a certain haughtiness bred into the child that the mother had sorely lacked. That was not to say that Joanna had been meek. Nay, she'd been well-bred, softly spoken, but she had commanded attention and respect wherever she went. And for that reason, shyness had not plagued the departed Lady Lannister. More than once Rhaella had wished she were more like that woman.

When she had been crowned beside her brother, Rhaella hadn't missed the way Aerys had looked towards Joanna. It could have been love. Or it could have simply been desire. Her brother liked all that shone and craved beauty before anything else. That was his way. And in Joanna it seemed that he had found that beauty. Whether anything came of it, Rhaella had never asked. It was pointless anyway.

By the time Joanna arrived in court, Rhaella was already the mother to the heir of the throne. And she would be her brother's Queen regardless of whatever feelings might develop between him and Joanna. It was the way of their world. It had been thus for many a year and it would continue just so for a thousand more. In truth, Rhaella had more or less encouraged Aerys' interest in the other woman by turning a blind eye to the affair.

At the very best, Joanna could only hope to gain some favour for her family. That was if Aerys did not tire of her.

And yet despite all that, Rhaella had liked Joanna. They hadn't been extremely close, for Joanna had found a friend in the current ruling Princess of Dorne, and together they had been inseparable. But as they had both served as ladies-in-waiting to the Queen, Rhaella had been part of their little group. They had shared stories and laughter and worries. It had been a sort of companionship which brought joy. That closeness between them, however, had evaporated when the Dornish Princess left and Joanna became her cousin's bride shortly after.

Rhaella hadn't mourned. There would be other ladies-in-waiting. Queens had many companions, confidantes; it would be foolish to break her heart every time one of them left. That lesson she had learned early on.

After her departure for Casterly Rock, Joanna had written quite frequently in the first few years. The correspondence had been lively and full of wit. And then she had her twins and other matters began to occupy her time. It had been perfectly understandable.

In the end, they had remained cordial towards one another. And now Rhaella saw the mother in the daughter and wondered if it was possible for Lyanna to gain a friend. Perhaps Cersei Lannister was much like her mother not only in image.

"Your Majesties," Tywin greeted them first, Cersei following suit. She curtsied in an elegant manner alongside her father. "You have summoned us." The Lord Hand's face was inscrutable. Rhaella felt a chill run down her spine.

"Quite so," Aerys spoke. His eyes had travelled to the child, Rhaella saw, and stared thoughtfully. Without doubt he's noted the striking resemblance she bore to her mother. "We have thought it time to come upon a decision regarding your proposal, my good lord of Lannister."

"And if I may, Your Majesty," Tywin addressed the King, not even giving Rhaella a glance, "what is the decision that has been reached?"

There was something dangerous about the man. Rhaella stood to her feet and moved behind her brother's chair, half hiding behind it. She could but wonder why those eyes of his were so cold. Joanna's death must have taken its toll on him at a greater level than it had been anticipated.

If the gossip was unclear in what regarded the King and Joanna Lannister, then the woman's relationship with her husband was less of an enigma. Tywin Lannister had loved his wife, possibly he'd even fallen in love with her. Joanna's death must have broken his heart. A wave of sorrow crashed through the Queen. She was not, after all, made of ice. Grief was no stranger to her. Loss neither.

And yet his presence had brought something disturbing with him. Rhaella gazed at the little girl again. She was about the same age of Lyanna, a bit older perhaps. It was difficult to tell. Cersei Lannister was tall and lean, already displaying a great amount of loveliness in her even and smooth features. It seemed that she, much like her father was impervious to everything and all in her path. What a curious thing.

"Cersei Lannister is of an age with Lady Lyanna, whom as you well know had been in our care since not very long after her birth," the Queen supplied, buying her brother some time with the intervention. Aerys glance at Tywin with undisguised distrust and seemed loathe to answer. "We feel that it would be good for her to keep company closer to her age."

"Which is why," Aerys cut in as Rhaella's hand came down upon his shoulder, "we are desirous that your daughter provide said companionship. House Lannister is our greatest ally and close friend." Well, at least he had managed to produce the words in an adequate manner. Rhaella had worried over that quite a bit.

"What say you, Lady Lannister?" she asked of the girl in the friendliest voice she could produce. "Are you willing to do this?"

Something indefinable crossed the child's features, morphing her mien. Rhaella could not quite put her finger on what the meaning of it was. However, Cersei seemed to find her voice in the meantime. "I would be honoured."

"There are, of course, certain issues that must be made clear before we may proceed," Aerys said. "The situation of Lady Lyanna is not unknown in court. I will assume that your daughter is also aware." Cersei nodded her head vigorously as her father assured that that she did know. Her brother nodded too. "I want this to be clear, Lord Tywin; Lady Lyanna is to be protected from danger at all time. If so much as a single strand of hair breaks from her and your daughter is at fault, there will be consequences."

For the first time, Cersei displayed an emotion – fear. Rhaella held back a smile.

* * *

><p>"It is imperative that we do not give ourselves away," her brother spoke, pacing about the room, hands behind his back and head bowed down. Rhaella sat on the bed, having drawn the sheets tightly about her. "They would love nothing more than to tear us apart."<p>

"We won't allow it," she replied with conviction. "Aerys, do you remember when Selyne Costayne tried to worm her way into your bed. She had the audacity to hide little bits and pieces of information for me. Do you remember?"

The King gave her a pleading look, as if asking her not to bring up such persons into their conversations. "I remember," he replied nonetheless. "What of it?"

"Do you know why she did not succeed?" the Queen asked, pride bearing through the words. "Because when they go about springing their traps, most of them tend to forget that we are not only wife and husband, but also sister and brother. They do not understand us. Let us use it to our advantage."

If there was one thing Rhaella knew how to do then that was protecting those she cared for. The blood of the dragon as just as strong in her veins as it was in her brother's. But Aerys was often reckless, where she was calmer. He was the one that headed right into the fray, where she tended to wait for calmer waters.

"It would have been easier had the girl been a tad older," Aerys groused unhappily. Rhaella could not help the laughter that escaped past her lips. "Laugh all you like. But I still say we should make our move as soon as possible regarding her."

"There is time yet," Rhaella offered with a hint of a smile upon her face. "Let them grow fond of one another first, won't you?"

He pulled a face at that, like a confused child who could not understand why his mother refused to allow him the last lemon cake. "They are already fond of each other, my dearest sister. I thought that was why they spent so much time together."

"I am certain you are right. But Lyanna is yet too young to be fond of him as a maiden is of a man. And to Rhaegar she is very much a child still. They have the right of it, those two. Be but patient and we shall triumph." After all, many had tried to pry the power away from House Targaryen, and they had failed. What was one more attempt?

Aerys gave her a dry look. "How come you know so much about this?" When it came to the emotions of other, her brother could be quite daft. Or mayhap it was an issue all males were confronted with.

"It is not difficult to see, brother mine, if one knows where to look. Perhaps you should pray for better eyes." Her teasing earned her a playful shove into a mountain of pillows.

"What an insolent wench you are," he responded, settling himself comfortably next to her. "You know, I could punish you for speaking with such carelessness to your King."

"Perhaps I should fear that," Rhaella countered good-naturedly, "but I do not. An awful truth, I know." She smiled at him before turning around to blow out one of the candles.

What strange dreams filled her mind as she slept, Rhaella was unable to fully remember when she woke up from the deep slumber she had fallen in the previous night. Aerys had left her bed, sometime before the rise of the sun. She'd heard him move about carefully, quietly so as to not wake her. Of course, half-asleep as she had been Rhaella had not paid the noise much mind. She'd simply returned to her dreams whatever they'd been. Still, she woke well-rested and in a bright disposition which led her to believe that the gods had sent her kind visions.

One of her ladies appeared at her bedside with a small basin of water. Rhaella washed her hands and face with slow, languorous movements. She slipped out of bed and asked for one of her favourite dressed to be brought to her.

Dressed and combed and washed, the Queen made her way out of her private chambers. At the door, she was promptly greeted by the Kingsguard assigned to her for the day. Rhaella answered cheerily, but did not otherwise acknowledge the man as he tailed her though the corridors. She hummed to herself and headed for the nursery.

Jaehaerys yet slumbered in his crib. The wet-nurse that fed him curtsied to the Queen. "Your majesty," she greeted softly.

Rhaella nodded at her. "How is the Prince on this fine day," she asked just as quietly.

"He is well, that one. Healthy and strong," the woman replied.

The mother walked closer to the crib and took the babe into her arms. She leaned in to gather his scent against her nose. Her sweet babe.

From outside footsteps could be heard. Someone was running down the halls. Rhaella placed Jaehaerys back in his crib and left him in the care of the wet-nurse as she made her way into the hall. It did not come as a surprise when she saw Daeron come out from behind a corner.

"It is still early, my son. Why are you up and about?" she demanded of his, stopping his slight with a firm grip of his shoulder as he made to pass by her.

"I am not tired," he answered with all the sincerity of a child. "And I wanted to play with Lyanna, but Septa Anora said I couldn't because she was asleep. So I am going to wake her up."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaella contradicted. She looked up in time to see the rotund Septa make her way towards them, her face red as an apple. Daeron groaned and tried to pull away from her, but Rhaella knew how to go about handling sons. "No more of that nonsense now, Daeron," she chided. "Let Lyanna sleep."

"But–" the boy protested, flailing about, "but she promised."

"Well then you shall see her," the mother answered. "In the meantime, come help me."

At that her son looked up. "Help you, mother? What with?"

"Do you by chance remember those old tales you were speaking to me of the other day?" she questioned. Her son nodded dutifully. "I seem to have forgotten quite a bit. Would mind reminding me again?"

If there was one thing Daeron enjoyed, then that had to be chattering. He could go on talking for hours on end.


	9. Ned I

Ned rubbed the long, winding bruise which decorated his arms and hissed as the pain shot through the limb like an unwelcome icicle sliding against his back. Brandon would have laughed if he could see him. His older brother had always been thus – a bit unable to empathise, that was; it was one of his biggest flaws alongside his famous obstinacy and possibly life-threatening recklessness.

"What are you doing, Ned?" Robert questioned, momentarily taking his eyes off the serving girl and looking at the other. "Still hurts, does it?" the older boy teased, though he did it without any intention to cause harm.

Prickled nonetheless, Ned threw him an angry glare. "What's it to you?" he groused unhappily as the other one laughed heartily at the misfortune he had caused directly. In training, Robert Baratheon was as fierce as any warrior on the battlefield. Ned had learned that almost as soon as he began squiring for Lord Arryn.

His friendship with Robert had begun as many a friendship had before them. Namely with a few distrustful stares and jabs made in joke and a few unkind words besides for good measure. After all, they were boys, and how else would they get to know one another. It did not take very long for the two of them to form a fast bond that had its foundation made upon common interest such as sword fighting, squiring and generally leading a pleasant life. In anything could make for better a bond, Ned had not heard of it and he declared to himself that he would not wish to even if he could.

Amongst the first persons he had met at the Eyrie, Robert had been the one which made the grandest impression upon young Ned's mind just behind Lord Arryn himself, of course. Robert had a way about him. Born the eldest son and heir of House Baratheon, he drew breath with a staggering confidence, one that left all he met in his path nothing less than bewildered. Ned himself had been transfixed at first, not quite certain that the boy wasn't Lord Arryn's son himself. Which was rather foolish of him, he learned soon enough.

Jon Arryn, honourable and kind man that he was, had no sons. According to Robert the man had been wedded twice but both his wives had failed in their duties to produce children. More than that not even Robert knew, for he confessed that Lord Arryn rarely spoke of his wives. If that was done with good reason or not, Ned couldn't say, for the affairs of the heart were a territory he dared not venture into; unlike his friend.

If Ned was somewhat shy even having reached the respectable age of two-and-ten and could not properly speak to a pretty girl with flushing and stammering, Robert, one full year older, had no such issue. In fact, it seemed that he exuded something quite irresistible to all females, be they of the peasantry or of a higher class. And he was also a stronger fighter than Ned, managing to win most of their matches, save for those occasions when Ned outwitted Robert and won them himself.

However, it sometimes still made him marvel that the other boy, older, taller and much stronger, would put so much effort into winning their bouts. It was a strange thing to be in someone else's shadow and struggle to reach the sunlight without entirely wanting to leave said shadow.

Signing, Ned looked mournfully at his bruised skin once more. He wondered bleakly what his mother would say were she to see him at that moment. Lyarra Stark had been, though Ned could not rightly claim to have retained strong memories of her, a strange mixture of gentleness and sternness, coddling her sons by not pampering them except on special occasions – of which Ned had not been given to have too many of in her presence. Yet even so, he could still remember that she had the prettiest smile and she would sometimes bestow it upon her sons as they played about the snow-covered ground.

Thoughts of his mother inevitably led to memories of his father and brothers. Ned wondered whether father would write again, or if he would hold his silence for another year, simply waiting for his son to come and greet him in his own time. What a strange man his father was. Not long after Lyarra's death he fell into a deep melancholy which nothing seemed to cure. It hardly mattered how good of a rider Brandon became or how well Ned had learned the lesson Maester Wallys taught or even that Benjen had managed to steal away some lemon cakes from the kitchens. All these exploits brought a mere gloomy glance. A strange man, indeed, Ned considered.

He could not help but wonder if that behaviour had anything to do with the sole missing Stark. When his mother died, it had not been because of an illness – a chill of the head, or stomach, or anything of the sort – but because she had laboured so very hard to bring into the world siblings for Brandon and Ned.

And she had done so. Lyarra birthed a boy, his younger brother, Benjen, and another child that all servants were careful not to mention within earshot of Rickard Stark. If anyone ever spoke about Lyanna Stark, they claimed that her eyes had been silvery and her skin too white. They said she'd been brought into the world to suffer, for why else would the gods have allowed such a child to be born. For whatever reason, the girl had survived even when left in incapable care and misery.

'Twas only Old Nan that sometimes spoke of the girl in hushed tones, saying that the child had been very like her mother, except for the eyes – which indeed, had been silvery, lightless little orbs – that resembled those of Rickard. Nan was among the few who thought that the child had been unfairly pushed away from her father's heart.

When asked where the child had been taken, she would sigh and worry her fingers and then sigh again. In the end she claimed that Lyanna Stark lived far in the south in the care of the royal family who had kindly taken her in for some reason unknown to her.

Something slammed hard against his shoulder, jolting Ned out of his thought and ripping a small grunt from his lips. He turned in time to see Robert's grinning face. "Be kind to him. Tya," he spoke to a serving girl who flushed prettily. "He is my friend."

Tya gave Ned a small smile, but her heart wasn't in it. She had been angling for Robert's attention, no doubt, but Robert had seen a prettier girl somewhere. Ned gave her a short nod, not at all in the mood to converse with her.

Nonetheless, Tya squeezed herself between him and Robert. "Do you squire for old Arryn too?" she asked sweetly, placing her hand on his.

Ned stared into her wide green eyes and gently pulled his hand out of her grasp. "I do. Same as Robert." The girl seemed impressed by that particular bit of information. Her smile turned even sweeter and seeming not to notice his reticence, she leaned in closer to him. A tendril of deep auburn fell in her freckles face.

"Perhaps I could come up sometimes to see you," she offered. "I don't think old Arryn would mind." Well, that much was true. Jon Arryn would not mind for likely the girl would accompany the respectable widow which sometimes visited with the lord. "Would you like that?"

"I suppose," Ned replied, his whole face colouring with embarrassment. The young girl laughed and held a hand out. She took his own hand in hers again and squeezed his fingers in a surprisingly strong grip.

"What do I call you?" she asked, still wearing her happiness of her face. "Robert is a funny sort. He introduces me to his friends but gives me no names."

Robert had also staggered away to a pretty girl of some six-and-ten years that had hidden herself against the wall. She was tall and slim with an ample bosom and thin ankles. Ned looked away from her momentarily, in order to better concentrate of his own partner. "Ned. You can call me Ned."

"I am Tya," she answered in kind. "Are you some lord's son too?"

Her question almost produced a scowl on Ned's face. But he held himself back. What good would it do to punish her simple maid's curiosity? "I am," he replied, giving her a hard stare nonetheless. It was clear that Tya was no lord's daughter herself. The fiery haired girl wore clothing that would befit a servant rather than a lady. Her dress was a bit too short for her, showing trim ankles and she wore no shoes. But then again, when Robert had convinced him to come down for the festivities Ned had not exactly expected to be meeting the King and Queen.

"That is so very well," the girl said in a cheery voice. "And what is your father's name? Which part of this old grand realm do you hail from?" She pushed herself closer to him and looked down at his bruised arm.

Rough fingers starting kneading the abused flesh as Ned spoke. "My father is Lord Rickard Stark and I am of the North. Winterfell is the seat of House Stark."

"The Starks of Winterfell," she echoes thoughtfully. "I have =heard of you. In King's Landing."

How could she have? Ned gave the girl a startled look. "We have not been to King's Landing recently."

"Of course not, silly. But I served for some time in the King's keep and there I've heard many a time that the Queen kept a Stark child with her." The explanation had Ned concentrating his whole attention upon Tya. She, noticing that, gave a soft smile, a curl of lips that showed no teeth. "I even saw her once. Lyanna, they call her."

"You've seen my sister," Ned breathed out. Somewhere a sweet, sorrowful melody started playing. The lutes cried out in unison. "You really have, haven't you?"

Tya laughed. "I wouldn't lie to you, Ned Stark. I swear upon the book of the faithful, I've seen the mite well enough that one time."

"What did she look like?" Ned found himself pressing her for information. "Do you remember?" Why in the wolrd he would be curious about a girl he saw a long, very long time ago and about whom not even father bothered to find anything, he couldn't say. Yet his heart beat with jerky motions within his chest and his fingers tightened around Tya's hand. "Tell me."

"Well, I suppose I remember," the girl said, an impish smile blooming on her lips. "Let's see. It was a few years back, when father still worked in the King's kitchens. I remember," she started but then promptly fell into a dream-like state, presumably combing through her memories.

Ned despaired on ever hearing the tale and wondered if he should simply drag her away and give her some coin for her effort. He tapped his foot impatiently upon the ground and glanced towards where he'd last seen Robert.

His friend was speaking to another girl, this time an even younger one. Unlike her predecessor she was short and somewhat plumb. Her mouth was small and round and red, not unlike her whole face. Ned shook his head. Robert did not really care about the woman he seduced so long as he had his fun with them. One day, Ned told himself, Robert would find that one girl who wouldn't fall for his smile. And that would serve him right.

Turning away from his friend, he stared at Tya again. She had not opened her mouth but she too was watching Robert. It took a long sigh and some more moments of silence before she faced him once more. A strange fire burned in her eyes as she began speaking once more.

"As I was saying, I remember the day very well. I had been carrying water for the kitchens and decided to walk through the gardens. They sometimes allowed us to do so, the Queen did not even mind our presence there so long as we kept our distance from her private gardens." Her explanation was completed by hand gesticulations aplenty. "So, I was taking water to the kitchens when suddenly, a yell came out of nowhere. I startled, of course, and spilled some water on the ground. But I did not even manage to calm myself when a slight thing came tearing down the path followed by two boys." Again she stooped and glanced at Robert.

"And? What happened?" Ned prompted.

"Well, I continued to watch as the girl laughed and ran. I only realised it was the Queen's Lyanna when one of those boys rushed to catch her before she stumbled upon a stone. I saw her palming the dirt and realised she could not see, for she was crying that one of her flowers had been blow away. And indeed, it had. It was a little bit before her. A person with sight would not have missed it."

"What did she look like?" Ned repeated his earlier question, shivering slightly.

"Small and slim," Tya offered with a shrug. "Her hair is dark – not black, mind you." She laughed and gave him a long look after. "Her face is much like yours if I think on it. Long and serious. But mayhap hers is smaller."

"That is to be expected," Ned replied quite seriously which only made his partner laugh. "What?" she demanded as she doubled over.

"She's prettier too and has a sweeter temper," Tya japed. "I reckon before long she'll grow into a beautiful lady." At that her countenance changed. Ned did not inquire as to her sudden sullenness. "Mind my words, Ned Stark; you keep that boy away from her," she pointed towards Robert. "He's a dear truly, but he can't help himself when pretty women are involved."

It seemed to Ned an entirely absurd idea that Robert would ever glance at his sister – a girl he knew only from stories – as he did at other woman. Lyanna was an abstract concept in his mind, an almost faceless little girl with something faintly reminiscent of his dead mother about her. But she was no lady and most certainly she would not interest Robert. He was about to share these exact same thoughts with Tya, but the girl took his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his.

Her lips were dry and chapped, thin and hot beside, as if she burned with fever. Ned made a sound of surprise which melted away like the snow of summer that sometimes fell in Winterfell. He could taste ale and even faintly the stew. It was no unpleasant by any means.

"If I remember more about your sister, can I come visit? Just to tell you," Tya asked of him. She clasped his shoulder and squeezed, nails digging into his flesh. "I promise I shall remember more," she pleaded with him.

Though he knew she likely had no more stories of Lyanna and that she merely wished to be closer to Robert, no matter that she had kissed him, Ned nodded his head energetically. "I'd be pleased," she said by way of encouragement. "I never managed to spend much time with her. My sister, I mean."

"You should ask old Arryn to take you to King's Landing with him when he's going." The suggestion settled in his mind easily enough. It was a good notion and he had yet to think of it.

"How very clever," he remarked. "I should like that. Perhaps I might even be able to see her." Though she, by all accounts, would not be able to see him. But Ned had to admit to an almost impossible to resist curiosity.

Why had father sent her away? Why had the Queen decided to keep her? And how was she treated into her home? These questions demanded his attention for some time, during which Tya resumed her duties, not before promising that she would see him later.

Ned did not even wait for her to come around again. He started searching for Robert, intending to tell him that he was returning with or without his companionship. He looked to where the other had last been, but there was no sight of him. Ned walked around for some time, but seeing that Robert was nowhere around, he decided that it was useless to search for him.

It was late and the crowd would soon become unmanageable. Even Lord Arryn who presides over the festivities was sitting up from his chair and bidding his people a fair time of what was left of their celebration.

One man swayed left and right, trying with all his might to put his arms around a young woman who agilely escaped all his attempts. She laughed and taunted him, stopping for just one second, then taking off again. Ned pushed past them, ignoring the drunk's grunt of displeasure. He did not even look back as someone called out to him when he upset one of the tables by bumping into it as a burly creature jostled him.

Finally reaching his destination, Ned looked at Lord Arryn's flushed face and could not help thinking to himself that the man was rather full of fine wine and bitter ale. He stepped closer and closer still. Lord Arryn was speaking to one of his men, supposedly giving him the last instructions before he retired for the night. Ned thought it prudent to keep out of the way and await his turn with patience. And soon enough it came, on the heels of Jon Arryn sending his man away. Ned snapped to attention as his name was called.

"There you are," Jon Arryn said. "I've been wondering where you'd disappeared to." His slightly gruff voice was tempered by a light slur, a quality which he had obtained by imbibing. "Now where is the other one, I winder." He glanced around. Still, there was no Robert to be seen. "Where is he, do you know, Ned?"

"Nay," Ned answered over the sound of the crowd. Not that it mattered. By morning Robert would return on his own. He always seemed to do thus.

As if to confirm that train of thought, Arryn slapped his knee and staggered forwards. "I say we leave him for now. The boy has a way of making the best of any situation." There was little danger in the Vale for Robert. Unlike Ned, he had wandered through the village and made himself a great many friends. "Enough if this standing," the older man muttered. "It is past time we were off."

Carefully following the lord's steps, Ned hurried in Jon Arryn's wake, looking about just to make sure Robert was nowhere near by. He caught Tya among the masses one last time. She waved and smiled, a merry twinkle in her eyes, but did not break from her duties. Ned nodded towards her but his eyes moved on soon enough.

Drunks and jesters and women and singers mingle about. There is no trace of Robert, nor of the plump girl he'd been speaking to. Assured with that, Ned waked on even faster, resolving to no longer try to find his friend out. Likely as not, Robert did not miss his presence and Ned had other matters to concentrate of at the moment. Like finding out when Arryn planned to go to court and praying that time was soon.


	10. Rhaegar III

"I do not like this," Arthur said in a calm voice that nonetheless made it rather clear that he was not at all pleased. "That you would work so hard to protect her, only to throw her in harm's way with such alacrity does not make sense."

Rhaegar gave his companion a long stare. "Do you doubt your skills?" he questioned lifting the sword high in order to see it glint menacingly in the sunlight. The sword proving satisfactory, he placed it away with a sharp move. "Or do you doubt me?" On the one hand, Arthur's hesitancy was understandable. It certainly looked like Rhaegar was placing Lyanna in a position of little certitude denying her proper protection.

But in adopting such a view, his friend conveniently forgot about the fact that Rhaegar could not simply do as he wished. Insulting Lord Lannister was only safe as long as the man thought he had something to gain by enduring it. And that meant that Lyanna too was needed to collaborate in that, although she knew it not off yet. All the same, Rhaegar did not plan to satisfy the Lord Hand's demand. Yet he would not cut off the branch from underneath his own feet.

"You know better," he spoke again, as Arthur offered no reply. "You know me. Would I put her in danger if I was no absolutely certain that I could protect her properly?" The two young men looked each other in the eyes. A silent communication commenced between them.

The means by which they managed to make themselves understood were forever to remain unknown And yet it seemed that with one glance, Arthur Dayne was willing to push his misgivings away enough to hear his friend's plan. "I will not let all my good work go to waste," he stated stoically, sitting down as well. "What have you in mind?"

"It is fairly simple," Rhaegar began. The cyvase board rested innocently upon the table, all pieces arranged neatly in their squares. He picked up the onyx king and held it out towards Arthur. Arthur did not hesitate to take it from his friend's hand. "You know Tywin Lannister's power at court have been ever increasing since his appointment as Lord Hand. And I am sure you are aware of his plans. After a general fashion, of course."

"It is not so very different from other plans," Arthur countered. He closed his fist around the dark piece and looked towards the board. Rhaegar smiled, knowing that he had made himself understood. "But that would be a tremendous effort. The Iron Bank." The rest went unsaid.

Much aware of the inherent danger of such a scheme, Rhaegar could but nod in acknowledgement. "That is my concern also. As it stands, the Lannisters are valuable. We would need to gain some leverage before calling them out on their trespasses." Which was no easy thing to manage. Tywin Lannister was not the sort of men people spoke about in anything but reverence and astonishment.

Only jokingly had he heard it said that he was ruled by his wife. But, of course, that was servant talk. No doubt the man had loved his lady wife – who had recently died, if Rhaegar was not mistaken – but that did not mean he had been in any way ruled by her. Nay, he was much too cunning for that, rather like an old fox.

"But that still leaves Lyanna in danger. Cersei is her father's daughter," Arthur pointed out. "Can't you read as much in her eyes?"

"She might be," the Prince half agreed. "But that does not mean we cannot eventually make good use of her." Cersei Lannister was just a girl, barely older than Lyanna and certain to be easily influenced if she could be kept away from her father's sphere. It was no difficult task, to be sure. It couldn't be.

"Say that we do manage it," his friend returned, leaning back in his seat, and allowing the king to drop on the board. The piece fell over and knocked down one of the elephants too. "The same have occurred to Tywin Lannister. If Cersei can be influence, so can Lyanna."

"It won't come to that." Tywin did not suppose Lyanna to have much meaning to anyone but the Queen. That was Lyanna's advantage over the lion's daughter. "Besides, Lyanna shall be closely watched. Arthur, in this game we play, who do you think is ruler?"

With those words, Rhaegar pulled out a small sculpture and placed it on the cyvasse board. There was no white king in sight, but instead, an ivory representation of a woman had been placed down. The delicately crafted queen stood next to a much bigger dragon. "One day, I will tell you what this is about," he laughed at the confusion on his friend's face. "But until the time comes, I need someone trustworthy to protect Lyanna. Arthur, I cannot do this on my own."

"You will always have a friend in me," came the natural and, at the same time, expected answer. "You needn't explain before you wish to, but I hope that someday is someday soon. Else I'll perish from curiosity and your Lyanna will be left to fend for herself."

On that teasing note, Rhaegar took the small queen back. He looked at the figurine and sighed softly. "I wish it were not so complicated. I truly do."

"Life. my friend," Arthur sagely delivered, "is only as difficult as one makes it." He stood up from his seat and gave the Prince a small grin.

"You say that because the burden of responsibility is not yet upon your shoulders. I did not have the blessed circumstance of being a second son." Climbing to his own feet, Rhaegar watched Arthur shake his head. "I would trade places with you in a heartbeat if it were possible."

"Do you mean you would actually be willing to give Lyanna to me?" There was no seriousness in the question, but still Rhaegar could not help being mildly annoyed. Arthur laughed. "Seven kingdoms and a marvellous girl. You know, I've heard worse bargains."

"I would not give you Lyanna, Arthur, even if the Father himself demanded it." The statement was met with a knowing look from Arthur and a rather infectious smile. "Besides, she wouldn't want to go with you."

"Should we ask her?"

* * *

><p>Daeron was rather like the plague. Rhaegar gave his younger brother a less than gentle look and bent down to help Lyanna to her feet. "What in the name of the Seven have the two of you been doing?" Lyanna's dress had been all splattered with mud – though where they'd found mud, Rhaegar couldn't fathom, as it had not rained for some time.<p>

His brother mere scowled up at him and clutched Lyanna's arm as soon as she was back on her feet. Lyanna, however, was apt and willing to offer an intelligible answer to the posed question. "His Grace wanted to see the horses and I offered to accompany him." That explained the mud and the disarrayed state of both of them.

Still, there remained one glaring irregularity which Rhaegar could not ignore. "And where, if I may ask, are your companions?" As befitting their elevated station, both of them should have had at least one person watching them. It was rather disconcerting that it was just the two of them, wandering about. "Lyanna," Rhaegar prompted as gently as he could manage.

"It is not at all dangerous, Rhaegar. I know this place like the back of my hand," she answered, not at all concerned. That was her way and it was understandable, as no one had ever tried to cause her harm. But to his mind – older and, he believed, wiser – the easiness with which she dismissed the danger was worrisome.

Her other arms came to rest around Daeron. She was protecting him as she was wont to do. A strange sort of relationship had bloomed between his younger siblings and Lyanna. But by far the strongest bond had been established between her and Daeron. "We did want to wait for you," she offered as consolation, "but then we heard something about a new lady coming to court and Daeron wouldn't sit still after."

"I already said I've seen her," Daeron groused, "and I don't like her."

"You see?" Lyanna said. "I did try to stop him, but how does one go about containing a storm. I thought it would be better to join him."

Rhaegar did not know if she should be relieved or deeply angered. It was all very well that she had wished to help, but not at the risk of her own life. "Lyanna, Daeron, let us move along." Before his temper got the best of him. "Who is this lady Daeron wished to avoid?"

"I believe she is to be my new companion. Cersei Lannister," the girl spoke, her hand coming to rest on his own. Rhaegar wrapped his fingers around her slight hand and looked at his brother, wondering if he should let him claim his other hand. Daeron, however, seemed pleased to remain at Lyanna's other side and hold her hand. "Have you ever met her?"

"Cersei Lannister?" Rhaegar looked down at Lyanna. She was facing forward, keeping her steps short and swift. "I have never met her. Her mother, however, used to be the Queen's lady-in-waiting when I was a child."

"Do you know her?" Lyanna pressed. "What sort of woman is she?"

"Her name was Joanna and I do believe she was a good woman. Cersei's mother is no longer alive, however." The explanation made Lyanna stop. Rhaegar, feeling that, stopped as well. "What is is, Lyanna?"

"If her mother is dead, then she is just like me," she considered, ignoring Daeron who was protesting behind her. "I do believe you were wrong, Daeron. I daresay you did not see it well. Or perhaps it was not Cersei Lannister that you saw."

"Nay!" his brother cried out. "I know what I saw. It was her."

Confused, but not unwilling to look for answers, Rhaegar shushed both if the before they brought the whole Kingsguard down upon them – or even worse, the King himself. "Enough of this, you two. Daeron, what do you think you saw?"

"I did see," Daeron insisted. "And I know it was her because the other boy, the one who looks exactly like her, called out her name."

"What did she do?" Rhaegar asked once more. Speaking to Daeron was often a frustrating endeavour. He would only answer when he wished to and then with only half the answer sought out. There was something of their father's obstinacy in the boy and it was not yet properly tempered despite the attention lavished upon him. Regardless, he was determined to find out.

His brother's mouth thinned in a mutinous line. It was Lyanna's intervention that led to Daeron answering. "If you want to convince us, you have to tell us what you saw," she nudged the boy gently. "What did Cersei do that you did not like?"

The boy mumbled something and for a few moments it seemed that he would not answer. But, in the end, he lifted his head and pouted. "She kicked Sixpence," he complained.

Sixpence, Rhaegar had found shortly after returning, was a three legged dog. At some point he'd been one of father's hounds, but some wild beast had savaged the dog's leg and it remained with only three. Daeron and Lyanna would often go out in search for it and bring food. It was very much like Lyanna to do so.

The discovery that a child could be cruel was not something very new to Rhaegar. It was often the young people, through not thinking about the consequences of their actions, that brought suffering upon others less fortunate than them. "Perhaps she was frightened by the dog," Rhaegar offered. His father's hounds were not particularly friendly and they painted a fearsome picture. It was not out of the realm of belief that a young girl would lose her composure before such an animal, though even Rhaegar found it strange that she would have kicked at it.

"She wasn't." The reply produced a sigh form Lyanna. Daeron clutched at her hand. "You have to believe me. She wasn't frightened."

"We do believe you," Rhaegar assured his brother. "But still, I say we do not cast judgement with such ease. After all, if you dislike Lady Cersei, we can always have her replaced with someone else."

"I quite agree," Lyanna said. "We shall see what comes of it."

And that was that for the moment. Rhaegar thanked the gods and began leading both Lyanna and Daeron away.

* * *

><p>Despite the cruel treatment he had endured, Sixpence was quite happily curled up beside the fire in the Queen's room when Rhaegar entered. The dog raised its head lazily and watched him walk in with a strong lack of interest. His mother turned to gaze at him and then she turned to the dog. "Sixpence, show more enthusiasm, won't you?"<p>

"I think he is showing as much enthusiasm as he should," Rhaegar countered with good-humour. "By the by, since when has he been residing here?"

"Ever since Lyanna brought him up from the kitchens. Now, don't ask me how she knew this was Sixpence, for I don't wish to think upon it. Suffice to say that if she could the girl would fill up the keep with injured beasts." Rhaella laughed softly. "But I daresay this is not the reason for which you've come to me." She patted Sixpence on the head and drew nearer to him.

Rhaegar nodded his head. "I have been thinking, mother. I believe we should write to Princess of Dorne. It would be cruel of us to allow them to worry needlessly." He sat down in one of the unoccupied chairs and called Sixpence to him.

The three legged creature hopped towards him and put his hap on Rhaegar's knee. The dog looked at him with round dark eyes and whined softly. "Who named him?" Rhaegar asked out of the blue, brushing his hand against the smooth, short coat of light hair.

"Aegon actually," Rhaella answered a moment later. She brought over a cup and handed it to him. That sounded about right. Rhaegar nodded his head. His father had never named any of his hounds to the best of Rhaegar's knowledge. "He mumbled the word and it took us quite some time to understand what he was saying."

All the mumbling, Rhaegar thought, came from their father. The King had the unfortunate habit of mumbling when he spoke but did not actually mean to give an answer to the question posed to him. His younger brothers had embraced the habit and used it even when it was no needed. Rhaegar did hope they might be cured of that.

"Let us hope the next pet he names will be able to hear it clearly from his mouth," the Prince commented and took a drink from his cup. The wine tasted sweet on his tongue and it flowed smoothly down his throat.

"Now, about those letters," his mother continued, sitting down too. "Aerys should not like it if we were to do that. Your father has his own plans where House Martell is concerned." And he did not take well to being thwarted. Rhaegar did understand. But he was not about to give up. Rhaella, seeing the determination on his face gave him a dry look. "We cannot go against the King's word."

"We won't. But we still need someone there though." Rhaegar glanced at Sixpence. The hound nuzzled against his leg, gave his hand a quick lick and the curled at his feet. "Is there no one trustworthy? Someone who could possibly help?"

"I shall try to find someone, my son. But I make no promises." She smiled at him. "This is an ugly matter to be sure. I truly thought she was my friend."

"It is no fault of your, mother. It cannot be helped that some people desire power over anything else in the world." His explanation was met with a small nod from his mother, but her face still retained a pensive and somewhat thoughtful expression. Rhaegar put his cup down and held his hand out towards his mother.

Rhaella gave him her hand. "It is so very saddening to find one's self unable to trust those who were once close friends. Sometimes I wonder if there was ever a Queen to live as in one of those songs. I truly envy them. So happy and content. While I have nothing but trouble." The Queen spoke in an amused tone, rather like the whole matter was a particularly amusing joke, but Rhaegar was aware of the actual fatigue that hid behind the words.

It had been a lesson long taught to them that crowned heads were not allowed a moment's peace. Rhaegar could not give her any words of comfort as he was one of the many reasons for which his mother had been put in a state of unease. Yet he had a duty, not only to his house, but to the realm and its people, and he had to press on.

"Which song did you have in mind?" he questioned.

She looked at him and pursed her lips. "This is so very strange. I have forgotten." She shook her head. "I do believe we should conclude here, Rhaegar. I truly am tired."

"Then I shall leave you to your rest, mother." Rhaegar allowed her to kiss his cheek affectionately and patted his hand gently. He stepped over the god who did not even bother to raise his head again. Rhaegar left the room with quiet steps.

He walked into the hallway. On the walls the torches flickered, the warm light spreading all about the hall. It was fairly quiet. But the silence did not bother him. Rhaegar walked down the hall towards his own chamber, his fingers reached out to touch the red tinted bricks. There was a feeling of comfort about the space.

He reached the door of his bedchamber. He entered swiftly, without a sound. In the comfort of his own bedchamber, Rhaegar sat at the small table near the window, but not before he lit some candles and filled the chamber with light.

Outside the moon shone, its silvery light bathing the scenery outside and inside a warmer light, coming from the burning flames, flowed freely. Rhaegar breathed in deeply. He looked outside for a short moment. And then his mind was made up. He knew what it was that he had to do. And he would do it.


	11. Lyanna III

A small hand caught one of her fingers, pulling and squeezing at the same time. Lyanna stopped mid-stride and turned a little so she might at the very least pretend knowledge of the other human's position. "Aye?" she questioned the eternal darkness that stretched out before her. But it was not very difficult to summon to mind the possibilities.

"Found you," crooned a young voice that could belong to no other but little Aegon. It always baffled Lyanna how he managed to escape his nursemaids and Septa. Laughter slipped past her lips. "Found you, sister," the child repeated enthusiastically. It was quite clear he was as enamoured of her as he was of his success.

"So you have, my little Princeling," Lyanna replied sweetly. She smiled down at him and wrapped her hand around his. "But do you not have to be with your Septa right now?" Her question did not seem to affect the boy too much. He clung to her hand and pushed into her as if he wished to lose himself in the folds of her dress. Lyanna would never quite understand her brothers, nor the love they seemed to share for her.

It was one thing that she had saved their lives – if one could call it that, for Lyanna herself found that she grew sceptical of those so-called gifts. If she were truly a gifted healer, or even a normal healer, then it meant that she herself would never fall ill. But she had been struck by illness, thus proving that she was no more and no less than perfectly human.

And how scared she'd been. Lyanna had feared death. A normal reaction, by all accounts, but one that had left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. All her life she had been protected against even the slightest of threats, only to find out that the real threat was one that no one could stop. The King himself had no power over the hand of the Stranger, fatality or whatever one wished to dress the concept of death as. The utter helplessness had awoken within Lyanna a knowledge she wished from the bottom of her heart she could be rid of.

She had felt the Stranger's cold, bony fingers gliding along her form and she had wondered if he would not spare her a few days more, just until Rhaegar returned. She had wished to cry out and pull away from the strange, cold touch. But she had to endure. And when it all came to an end, when she realised the stranger had gone and he'd forgot to take her along happiness had flooded her.

It was not the sort of joy one experienced when receiving a gift from one's protectors, parents and the like. It was not a happiness born out of material gain, but rather out of the fact that she lived, that she had somehow managed to remain where she wanted to be.

There were so many things she still wished to do. And the realisation that a chance had still bee given to her held more value than all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms.

To be so young and to reach such understandings was a curse of sorts.

"Ah, my lady, this is where His Grace has repaired himself," a new voice broke into the slightly one-sided conversation. "Lady Lyanna, I am so very sorry. I only looked away from him for one moment, I swear." The woman continued with such words, apologising as she stepped closer and closer, the sound of her footfalls reaching Lyanna's ear.

She had not heard the door opening. Perhaps her senses were starting to fail her. "There, there," she consoled the other female to the best of her abilities, "Aegon is a right menace when he puts his mind to it." The familiarity of her speech must have shocked the servants, for all Lyanna could hear was faint breathing. "Where was he supposed to be anyway?"

"In the nursery, my lady," came the answer a short moment later. "Her Majesty will have already arrived. How angry she'll be that he ran away again."

"But she won't," Lyanna promised, taking pity on the woman. She knew exactly how much trouble these children could be when it suited them, and it unfortunately suited them quite frequently. "Why should she be angered by the fact that little Aegon wished to spend time with his sister. There now, let us make for the nursery and put this to right."

Walking to the nursery proved to be a very good way of keeping Aegon preoccupied. The boy bounced left and right, occasionally knocking into Lyanna, though there was not much force behind these assaults. He pushed and pulled, no doubt wishing to she would play games with him. But Lyanna herself was very much preoccupied by other matters at that moment and in consequence did her best to calm the child down. Which was no easy task when one contemplated the usual attitude and temper of the dragonlings. May the Seven help however dared put themselves in their path, for Lyanna much thought they'd end up charred and burned for the effort.

A snort of laughter almost made its way past her lips at that particular thought. She did not however release it, as that would only alert Aegon that he may ain her benevolence and consequently a game if he were to insist.

As expected, the Queen was in the nursery. She was speaking in hushed tones and from somewhere within the chamber, the loud sound of scraping could be heard. Lyanna concluded that it was the second eldest son which had been sent to his lessons, though he wished none of those. Not able to sympathise, for she herself was a great lover of those lessons, as they were her sole contact with some rather interesting occurrences, Lyanna walked into the room, Aegon trailing in her wake, still trying to avoid the inevitable.  
>"Enough of that," Lyanna whispered to the child, her head turning ever so slightly in a gesture that spoke of mild annoyance. She loved these boys, she truly did, but sometimes she thought they could drive a person insane. "Now, Aegon, it is time to greet mother. Be a good boy and run along."<p>

He let go of her hand.

* * *

><p>"And this is Lady Cersei Lannister," Myra said. The sound of small, quick steps falling in a rhythmic pattern on the ground alerted Lyanna to the fact that Cersei Lannister was approaching her.<p>

Perched atop her seat, Lyanna merely nodded her head in acknowledgement on the other's arrival, but her face was still turned towards Septa Leonora who was speaking to her about the rights of a lord on his own land.

Clearly displeased by the interruption, the good septa rapped her knuckles on the wooden desk. "What is the meaning of this, Myra? Do you not see that we are in the middle of lessons?"

"Aye, I can see that well enough, Septa," Myra spat out. "I was instructed by Her Majesty herself," there she paused for the full effect of the Queen's importance to hit the humble septa, "to bring Lady Cersei to Lady Lyanna directly. I should hesitate to do otherwise."

"Very well," the other woman groused unhappily on account of being caught unprepared. "My lady, if you would be so good as to step closer to Lady Lyanna and have a seat, I should like us to continue the lesson."

"That would be more than appropriate," Lyanna ventured at the long last, having been silent until that moment. "I dare say Lady Cersei will find the application of law an apt subject for discussion. Have you been familiarised with it?" That question was understood as being posed to Cersei.

"I confess I have not, my lady," came the answer, wrapped in the sweet voice of a stranger. Lyanna made a small sound in the back of her throat, equal parts surprise and equal parts discomfiture. "My lord father never saw the need of my knowing of such matters."

It seemed to Lyanna that the lady was rather mournful for that matter. Of course, she was well aware that her own education differed somewhat from that of other noble ladies on account of her imperfection, but she had thought that law, as being applied to all and everything, should have made a subject on interest to all members of the realm.

"Then what have you studied?" Lyanna found herself asking, curious in a small measure of the newcomer.

"Dancing, poetry, singing and history." Cersei Lannister had delivered the short list with utmost pride. "My mother would teach me embroidery before," she cut herself short with a sharp intake of breath, "before she died."

"I am sorry for you loss," Lyanna murmured. She patted the seat closest to hers. "Then, Lady Cersei, what say you to gaining some knowledge on the laws of the realm?"

"I should like it very well," the reply sounded out.

Lyanna felt a presence close to her, the warmth of another body so very close. She caught herself before she could shrink back. Perhaps she should not have allowed Lady Cersei so close. It was rather uncomfortable to have one's own space invaded just so, even if there was no true nefarious intention at play. But she could no longer pull back. With a small sigh, Lyanna raised her head and spoke out loudly. "Let us go back to the lesson then."

"As I was saying," the septa began her toil anew, "a lord is much the ruler of his keep and the land surrounding it, until he reaches the border of his neighbour. On his land the lord had the responsibility of the rule. He must make sure his people work and that they provide him with the fruit of their work, so he in turn may feed them. For this purpose, he imposes upon them taxes."

"But, septa," Lyanna cut in, as was her custom, "there are frequent complaints that the taxes are too high."

"They are certainly not," came the answer. "But some peasants are simply lazy and unwilling to do their own duty. Perhaps Lady Cersei might offer some insight, having lived in her father's keep until recently."

"Oh nay," Cersei disagreed. "My father's people are indeed hardworking people. I have not known them to complain of too high taxes or not pay them. Except for one time," she trailed off. Lyanna could only guess what exchange passed between her and the septa. "He was a strange man, I confess, a sort of massive giant that had refused to do father's bidding. He had to pay some coins for something he had taken from the market, but he would not."

"And what happened to him?" Lyanna urged the other girl on when Cersei fell silent. She knew, in the back of her mind, that it would be a sinister story. But Lyanna could not contain her curiosity. "Do tell."

"They had him captured and tied to a pole, then father decreed that he should be punished and so he was. Twenty strokes of the whip. I do not know more than that."

"Of course you wouldn't," the septa interrupted. "Your lord father was right in that. You see, my ladies, such a man must be swiftly handled so that his example may not be imitated by other less fortunate souls who have not enough wit to keep out of trouble."

"That is understandable," Lyanna said. It certainly sounded like a good explanation.

"One must speak of laws no longer operating," Septa Leonora. "Until the reign of King Jaehaerys the first of his name, it was allowed to the lord of the keep to bed each new bride of her wedding day. That was called the first night. Certainly, the tradition is distasteful."

Lyanna shuddered. It truly sounded distasteful. In the spirit of her age, she had been taught that lying with a man was the duty of a wife. Any other sort of liaison was punishable in the eyes of the gods. And who would wish to gain the wrath of the gods?

"I have heard that the King too would have been allowed to bed the wives of his noblemen," Cersei offered in a thrilled low voice, as if she were sharing a secret.

Appalled, Lyanna drew back slightly. "But wouldn't that cause resentment among the noblemen?" It certainly seemed like a great risk to take, unless the king was certain no one would betray him.

"Oh certainly," the septa approved. "Any king would know better than to do so. Now, my ladies, let us continue."

* * *

><p>Lyanna leaned slightly against Cersei as they climbed down the stairs. Myra had wanted to take Lyanna down herself, but Lyanna had insisted that Cersei do it. "If I am to have a companion then I must learn to trust her. What better way is there than this?"<p>

The protest had slowly died away in the face of her determination. Lyanna did not wish to regret her choice, of course, nor would she give anyone reason to suspect that she might, so even if she remained unsure of Cersei'd trustworthiness, on account of an unpleasant occurrence that she had still to forget, Lyanna would not desist.

Even when Arthur offered to take Cersei's place. "I am ever fond of your teasing and merry making, ser," she had said, "but I fear that if we walk down these stairs together, one of us will have driven the other insane. That is no way to behave before supper." The truth was, Arthur did enjoy teasing her a bit too much. He was, she imagined, the annoying older brother to Rhaegar's understanding one.

So it was that Lyanna found herself on Cersei's arm, both of them walking slowly down the stairs. One because she could not see, the other because she was so unused to such tasks. "Are there more stairs?" Lyanna asked, though she knew very well that there were no more but a score that remained. The road was familiar to her, after all, though it wasn't so much to her new companion.

"But a few," Cersei offered. "We should reach the bottom soon enough." It must not have been as glamorous as she'd been promised it would be, Lyanna thought, when she detected the slight annoyance in Cersei's voice.

As promised, Lyanna felt solid, undisturbed stone beneath her feet a few moments later. Pulling away from Cersei, so they remained linked only by their arms, Lyanna resumed a lively pace. "I wonder what we shall be having. I do hope there are lemon cakes."

"I prefer raspberry tarts," the other said in a light tone. "They are sweeter. Mother would sometimes order raspberry tarts for my brother and me."

"Your brother is the same age you are, is he not?" Lyanna ventured.

"Aye, we were born one after the other, though I am older. I came first." There was a certain pride in those words. Lyanna smiled. "Do you have brothers?"

"I have the princes," Lyanna said with a shrug.

"Nay, I mean real brothers, blood relations." The clarification pulled a grimace from Lyanna. "So, my lady, do you?"

"I suppose I do." Her old wet-nurse would sometimes tell her of her family in the North, though Lyanna had thought very little on them. "My father has three more sons." And she had never seen any of them. Lyanna sighed. "Perhaps I shall meet them one day."

"Undoubtedly you shall," Cersei said. "Think only of all the tourneys they could attend. Are they older than you, these brothers of yours?"

"Two of them are." Her nurse had said that the third had come just a few hours before her. "The other is my twin." In a way, she was very similar to Cersei.

Laughter sounded out. Lyanna recognised it as the voice of the King. It was soon joined by the lighter laughter of the Queen. It seemed like they too were having a good time. Such moods being infectious, Lyanna allowed a smile of her own to light her face. "Come, Lady Cersei. No more dawdling."

They entered the dining hall. Once every new turn of the moon, the King and Queen took their meal in the hall, along with the lords present at court. Otherwise, supper was a quieter affair, taking place in the chambers of the Queen. Lyanna did not exactly know why the tradition went so, but she had grown accustomed to it and as such was wont to join them.

"My lady, you are finally arrived," boomed the King from somewhere ahead. "Well, what is the reason of your lateness? Let us have it."

With a grin of her own, for even without her sight, Lyanna could make out that the King was not in fact vexed at her, she fell into a curtsey. "The keep is a maze, Your Majesty. I fear we lost ourselves among the hallway."

"Very well, very well," the man laughed. "Come then, I trust you may do without your companion for some time yet."

Lyanna nodded her head and Cersei was allowed to join her father at a lower table. Left on her own, Lyanna started walking towards where she knew the three stairs led to the dais. She climbed the stairs carefully and then was promptly placed between Rhaegar and Daeron.

"Is Lady Cersei quite as Daeron would lead us to believe?" Rhaegar whispered to her once they were no longer under scrutiny.

"Oh, how would I know?" Lyanna questioned, slowly nudging his side. "She hardly seems like the stuff of nightmares. Do you know, we have quite a few things in common. I am of the firm opinion that we should allow ourselves more time before passing judgment."

"Ever willing to believe the best of anyone, aren't you?" the eldest Prince teased lightly. "But you are happy, aren't you, Lyanna?"

"As happy as I ever was," she answered, rather confused and not at all sure why he would ask her such a thing. Rhaegar would sometimes pose such questions to her. It seemed there was a need in him to make certain she was at her very best at all times.

"That is good to hear." His hand caught hers beneath the table. "I must speak to you." Those words were spoken in such a low tone that Lyanna had to strains to catch it over the din of the hall. But catch it she did.

"What about?" Her natural curiosity asserted itself once more. But Rhaegar would tell her no more. "Later, Lyanna. What I have to say is only for your ears."

Shrugging gently, Lyanna could but give a nod and return her attention to the food and Daeron's insistence that she try the mutton. The boy had been allowed to come down and dine with the members of the court for some reason. Lyanna suspected that Rhaegar had has something to do with it.


	12. Ned II

It would be her ninth nameday soon. Ned pulled on his steed's reins and the beast shook its head. Clearly it did not appreciate such handling. Far from paying that any mind, Ned kept his eyes straight ahead, wondering at the object of his considerations.

Ned had not written to his father to tell him he would join Lord Arryn's to King's Landing in the lord's visit, mainly because he could not account for the man's reaction. It was much safer to keep such plans to himself and see to it that his sole living parent remain unaware for a time.

After all, who knew what sort of girl his sister would turn out to be? And he could not say for a certainty that she would welcome his presence. Lyanna Stark, for all her name might be from the house of the direwolf, was not known to him. She had been no more than a babe upon her leaving, and father had rather cruelly given her away. It would not surprise Ned overly much if she did not wish to see him. Raised among strangers, she would likely feel more at home in their midst than in the presence of an unknown brother.

Yet for all that, his desire to see her was stronger than ever. A glimpse would be quite enough, Ned told himself. He simply wished to see if she'd grown up well, if she looked like a Stark at all and if there was anything of their dear departed mother in her features. He needed to know as much. And whatever answer he would discover to these questions, at least he would have the knowledge.

His horse nickered softly and shook its head again. Ned blinked in confusion. Looking down at his hands, he saw that he'd been gripping the reins too tightly again. Had it been Brandon riding – Brandon who had been born half a horse, if rumours were to be believed – it would not have happened.

"Are you trying to kill the poor best," Robert yelled at him, a large grin on his face. During the festivities, Robert had found himself in the middle of a brawl which had left him with a missing tooth and an bruised eye, accompanied by some scratches and bite marks. Not that Robert seemed to mind them terribly. But Ned had to admit, the look suited him.

"If I am, Baratheon, then it is none of your concern." He had not told his friend much about Lyanna. Only that he had a sister in King's Landing and that he hadn't seen her in so very long that he'd almost been tempted to think her a dream. "If you'd be so kind as to stop staring," Ned said a moment later noting with some annoyance that Robert still hadn't taken his eyes off of him.

Robert laughed. "You'd think you're to attend your own wedding the way you fret. Are you certain we go to see your sister and not your mistress," he japed, not at all minding the glare his friend shot him.

It was not unheard of when it came to Robert for him to be insensitive of other's feelings. Especially where women were concerned. Instead of giving him any sort of reply, Ned chose to dig his heels in the horse's flanks and prompted the beast to take speed. At the head of the column was Lord Arryn and at least that man would know how to hold his silence.

For all the good that would do him.

Ned did mot need to turn around to know that Robert was following him. Still, if he ignored the man, perhaps it would be altogether better for his sanity and their friendship.

"Now don't tell me the jest upset you," Robert called out. "Come. Ned, 'twas not serious." That apology earned him a look from Ned. "Ned Stark, you don't turn your back on me," Baratheon yells as Ned was doing just that,

When Robert did reach him, Ned bestowed upon him a withering look. "That lady you speak of is my sister and I will hear no such words of her." It was without cause that he grew angry, Ned knew, yet he could not stand such japes on account of a maiden of his blood. "Have a care what you speak in then future."

For once, Robert sported a serious mien. "I meant no offence," he excused himself. "'Twas only a jest. But I see that it was poorly done. I shan't ever do such again."

And with that it was quite impossible to remain upset at the man. "Very well." Ned held out his hand and Robert grabbed his arm, a hold which he returned. "Consider it a thing of the past, as shall I."

"If the two of you are quite done," Lord Arryn cut in, levelling a telling glare at the both of them, "mayhap you would find it within you to quit stalling. We haven't all year and dusk is swiftly approaching. Come, lads. No more wasted time."

Not the least bit chagrined, Robert galloped ahead, a trail of dust rising in his wake. For his part, Ned waited for a few moments for his thoughts to settle down before he too took Robert's way only to be challenged to a race. Quickly agreeing to participate, Ned promised to himself that he would win.

What followed was a battle of speed and wits and wills. Both young men were determined and both very much at work to win. Ned prayed his gods that he could make good use of his blood and ride like the wind, like Brandon would. His brother would have never contemplated losing and certainly not to a Southron. So Ned too hard and took flight, holding the reins of his horse tightly and advancing forwards. It took some skill to pass Robert, but when he did, nearing the end of the race, Ned swore the gods were smiling down upon him.

He had just reached the limit when from behind a cluster of shadows a figure emerged, spooking his horse. The beast reared back, rising on its hind legs. Ned let out a terrible sound of horror.

And then he was falling. His head hit the ground and he fell into a deep darkness.

* * *

><p>Pain shot through every nook and cranny of his body, along covered, heavy limbs and within his bones. Ned groaned in pain. He tried to open his eyes but his lids refused to part, Obstinately, he made another attempt, then another and another. Somewhere far away voices could be heard. If only he could open his mouth and call for help.<p>

But it was not to be. Within moments of his conscious waking second, he was dragged back into the darkness, though he fought like a madam to escape its clawing grip. It was little use and quite a difficult battle to hold. Tired and unwilling to fight anymore, Ned allowed himself to submerge deeper into the mystifying land of shadows. If it was his destiny to go there, who was he to challenge the gods?

It took little more than a few seconds for the blackness to morph around him. The wall of darkness shook and crumbled, cracking and hissing as it went down, as if in protest. Disconcerted, he tried to step back but some sort of invisible force held him within its grasp and he could but hit his back against, hiss in pain and stumble forwards.

"I have been waiting," a voice said. Appearing from the blankness like a blur upon the night sky, a woman strode forward. Her visage and gate were familiar to him, so was her countenance. "I have been waiting for so long."

Dumbfounded and frightened by the apparition, Ned merely held one hand up. He stretched it forward, but the figure remained where it was. A chasm appeared between them. "Mother!" Ned yelled. "Mother, I'm here."

For a short moment tears blurred his vision. It had been years since he'd seen her. And she looked almost the same. There was something too red about her lips and once blue eyes had bled into a crimson colour that had permeated the iris as well, her skin too pale and her form too thin. It looked more like his mother had morphed herself into a weirood and indeed before he knew it, the human form twisted and contorted. A scream of pain and fright cut through the premises.

What was once a human woman, as resembling one closely, had become a tree. A magnificent tree with long, thin branched and an abundance of blood-red leaves. The white bark shone with a strange light. The face that had been carved within it held some traces of a once feminine face, but Ned could not recognise his mother, for it was not only once spirit that had shaped the face, but many.

"Is this what I am to expect?" he asked loudly, rage coursing through him. "Give me my mother back. Give her back!" But no answer came his way. Biting his lips and pacing about, Ned was losing himself. It felt like he was doing just that and the fault lay with those ghosts.

"You are here for another purpose," a terrifying voice spoke, a thousand voices having come together in it. Ned thought he could distinguish his mother's among them. "We must give to you a message. The will of the gods must be made known to your brethren, mortal."

Ned could not make up his mind if the tree meant to insult him or not. But his mind would not cooperate and he found himself answering. "And what is the will of the gods?" He had not wanted to aid them, not in anything.

It was his mother that he wanted back, the woman father sometimes mentioned tenderly, with melancholy and grief. It was his mother that he wanted to see, not the gods. Yet mortals seldom had such choices when it came to the matters ordained by the divine creatures.

"Listen and listen well, if you do not wish the wrath of the ancient to come down upon you," the voices again spoke as one. There was something so powerful about the mere presence that Ned found himself, even unwilling, drawn in. "There is peril to come. A great danger awaits you all. And if you should fail in the task appointed to you, then all could be lost."

"What task?" Ned did not wish to her a riddles and go insane trying to solve them. "What do you speak of? You muddle the meaning."

"The meaning is clear," the weirwood contradicted. "You must guard the crowned rose that has sprung from stone and guard yourself against the false, or else you and your brethren will meet an end so terrible for nothing; no one shall remember you after, for no one will be left to do so. The choice is your."

"What choice?" The gods were mocking him, Ned was certain of that much. They wished to test him. They were bored and thought to play tricks on him. "I do not understand."

The limbs of the weirwood drew within, and the tree crumbled, twisted and turned until it had once again assumed the form a half-remembered woman. His mother stood before him with a cool gaze and lips thinned and blood-red.

"You must do this, my son. You must." The chasm between them persisted. "Protect her and the answers shall come. You will understand one day."

But he did not want to wait for that one day. "Mother, stay," he pleaded. "Or take me with you." He had missed her terribly.

She laughed, tinkling and sweet, but chilling at the same time. "Oh, my sweet child, I cannot take you with me. The road I travel is one without return. Not yet, my son. Not yet. But one day, I promise to you that I shall come."

"One day soon?" he asked. His hand shot out for her, as if to catch even a spark of her glimmer.

"Aye, but not too soon." He sketched him a bow. "Do not forget, my son. You must protect her."

And with that, the darkness came swirling in from all sides, latching onto him. Ned attempted to pull away, to dislodge it. The last hew saw of his mother was a fading skeletal figure. He would have wished to ask her so much. But he could not, for he was swept away, not to return again as long as life yet lingered within his veins.

When he came to, the wrinkled face of a maester loomed before him. "Ah, boy. You are finally awake, We feared we had lost you." Groggily, Ned tried to give an explanation. But he was stopped by a shake of the maester's head. "Say nothing, but drink of this."

* * *

><p>A small cart had been procured for him and the maester had insisted that for the time being Ned ride in that. Lord Arryn had agreed to it, saying that he deserved some rest and he could not achieve that if he rode one of those blasted beasts. "It nearly you a crushed skull, Ned. I will hear no more of it before you are well and ready."<p>

And that would take quite some time. It seemed that during his fall, one of his legs remained caught in the stirrup and the horse, spooked as it had been, managed to drag him after for a short period. The maester had been amazed, frankly, that he had survived. For his part, Ned was certain that it had been his mother to keep him alive and for that he thanked her. Though to find himself riding in a cart was not how he would have envisioned his journey to find his sister.

Robert rode beside him, his face a little pale. "I truly do regret it, Ned. I shouldn't have challenged you to that blasted race." That had been a tune Robert had been singing for some days. In the end, even Ned could take not more of it, patient as he was.

"Enough of that, Robert. Besides, I won." The knowledge helped him endure the humiliation of his current condition in a small measure. It was all he had to cling to anyway. "I will hear no more of it. I truly mean these words. Is there nothing else we might speak of?"

"But of course there is," Robert answered. "We are nearing our destination. You have been insensible for a few days, so you would not know our progress, but old Arryn says that if the weather holds, then we shall make it to King's Landing in five days more at the rate we are going."

"So few days?" Ned wondered out loud. He had known he'd slept through quite a bit of the journey, but it came as a great surprise that they truly were so close. "I can hardly believe it."

"We are of the same mind. But just you think Ned, we shall soon be in King's Landing. I've heard that the court is full of beautiful women." It was so very like Robert to be thinking of that. "We might even get to see the King himself."

The Targaryens and the Baratheons were closely related. A recent marriage between their houses, but two generations past, had made it so. But to Ned's knowledge the King and Queen were not particularly close to their Baratheon relations. Which in itself was not very strange as most relations were not very close. Ned had to but think of his aunt, Branda Stark, whom he'd not seen once in his life, but knew of from his mother's tales, though she yet lived with her lord husband somewhere in the South. Such was the existence mapped out for lord and ladies and their offspring.

"If the King will see us," Ned ventured. But perhaps he would; mayhap Lyanna would convince him of it, if indeed she would see her brother.

"I say he will, Ned," insisted Robert. "In her last letter, mother wrote to me that Lord Lannister was to bring his daughter to court. Have you ever heard of Cersei Lannister, my friend?"

Of course he had. Ned gave Robert a mildly disinterested look. Cersei Lannister was the very beautiful sole daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister. It was said that even the beautiful Shiera Seastar was a mere kitchen drab beside her. And Robert would, of course, know that already. Robert's mother, Lady Casanna, formerly of House Estermont, was ever trying to find her son a fitting bride, when she should have, in fact, been trying to keep him out from between every female's legs he met.

Still, that being said, Ned had to acknowledge that he did recognise an opportunity within his friend's words. "I thought she was still but a girl," he said none the less. If his memory did not fail, Lady Cersei had been born at a time with her brother, Jaime Lannister. And Jaime was barely older than Lyanna would be, thus Cersei too.

"Girls grow with time," his friend offered with a small shrug. "Besides, I said nothing of wedding her upon sight." That he hadn't. Ned nodded his head in approval. "Who knows, perhaps it is you that shall find her more appealing." And there he was, again with the teasing.

"If I do, Robert, you shall be the first to know, I am certain." Such a reply stopped Robert momentarily. He threw Ned an odd look. "Is there anything else beside women to speak of in King's Landing?"

"There is always the Kingsguard, though knights that they are, I am very much certain that the ladies are far lovelier and less dangerous." Both of them laughed at that, falling into the easy pattern of their friendship.

"So you say now, Robert, but mind that you don't provoke the wrong lady," Ned warned jokingly. Still, the danger existed. Robert thought a smile would get him out of any scrape so long as the recipient was a woman. He had yet to learn the most important lesson about responsibility, which was that responsibility was to be taken for one's actions. Yet there was time enough for that.

One of Lord Arryn's men threw them a suspicious look. "They think we are plotting," Robert commented with a smirk on his face. His eyes shone with a mischievous light. "I fear old Arryn had not quite forgiven us for disrespecting the cook's stew."

That particular stew had ended upon the clothing and persons of many a man in the fight Robert had begun. It was always entertaining to keep close to his friend. Ned laughed. "Do you think they shall risk giving us stew again?" He had been a willing participant in that battle.

"One can only hope," Robert feigned sobriety, placing a hand upon his chest. "If not, we can always make do with black bread and hard cheese." That had been all they'd been given, on account of said disrespect. "I am telling, Ned, a war could be won with those."

"Far be it from me to doubt you," Ned replied. But certainly, the bread and cheese were hard enough to act as rocks. "We should suggest such to His Majesty."

"That we should," Robert agreed.


	13. Notice

I have said some time ago that I was thinking about giving up writing because of some rather unpleasant circumstances. After considering the matter for some time, while I do not intend to retire permanently, I shall no longer be writing for a long period.

Given that the hiatus may stretch from a few months to a few years and I have some very nice readers, I thought it best to announce such.

If I do return to writing here, this announcement will be replaced by a real chapter.


End file.
